


Antlered and Horned

by BloodunderMoonlight



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Bottom Will Graham, Courtship, Dark Will Graham, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Forest Sex, God Hannibal Lecter, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, In Chapter 10, In Chapter 7, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Monster sex, POV Alternating, Pining, Season/Series 01, Shy Will Graham, Slow Burn, Stag Hannibal Lecter, Top Hannibal Lecter, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wendigo Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Knows, in chapter 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-02-07 07:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodunderMoonlight/pseuds/BloodunderMoonlight
Summary: Will is struggling with his bloodthirsty desire, but Hannibal is not helping at all; he is trying to woo Will with all the blood and corpses.(A Season 1 AU. Will is a dark Will and Hannibal is a lovesick god.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Smollypolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smollypolly/pseuds/Smollypolly) for being my beta!

  
He shot ten times. A spray of blood showered him, and more and more gushed beneath his hands like water from a profuse spring, warm, strong, and powerful. A shiver ran through his whole body.

The fading life of the girl reminded him the fallen bird he had found under a tree many years ago. A wing broken, the chick shuddered against his palm, hardly breathing. He could only stare at it, fascinated by the sight of its struggling and pain. An indescribable impulse twirled inside his chest, so fierce and so overwhelming that a child could not resist. The bird gave a weak call, and he, with a beam and no hesitation, twisted its neck.

Will has mentioned this incident to no one. Like he buried the body under layers of dirt, he has kept this secret deep deep down his mind. Especially after knowing the massacre of a serial killer always starts with animal killings.

He feels terrible, because he never feels terrible about taking a life.

His hands trembled when they covered Abigail's throat. The flooding blood almost burned his palms. The chaotic pulse and panting almost tempted him into tightening his grip, to strangle this vulnerable neck, to choke this miserable life, to feel the rush of dominance and destruction washing over him again.

He really should not let Jack bring him here. To this place with nothing but erosive darkness.

Will buries his face onto his palms. That sweet and viscous liquid seems still coiling between his fingers. He can smell it. He can taste it.

The world ahead of him is only darkness. He is alone, lost. He cannot find his way home.

With a tremor, Will takes a deep breath like what he always does at every dawn after the nightmares leave. But when he exhales, a synchronous breath from an enormous being flutters near his ear.

 

 

 

  
Hannibal is an ancient deity.

The mortals once worshipped him as the god of horn and death, feared him as the monster of winter and famine. He has witnessed legion seasons and dynasties. Though he never bothers to count the years, and at the time when his consciousness emerged from the void, the primitive mind of the mortals still had not created any calendar.

But he remembers everything. The guillotine and the subsequent revolution, the black disease carried by the rodents, the Horse of deception and death, and that particular night, when a bolt of lightning tore the sky and ignited the forest beneath, when flame, heat, and burnt odor drove all of the beasts to trot and fly, the _homo sapiens_ stayed and watched.

They saw the revelation, the resentful lightning, and the god that bestowed fire upon them.

That night was a spark dropped into a sea of hay, spreading intelligence among the mortals in an unstoppable rate. They tamed the fire, cast their languages, created their arts and songs, and finally harnessed the lightning they once did not dare to provoke. Used to be a beast like him, the humans became the most intelligent animal in a blink of an eye.

In Hannibal's eyes, the humans are no longer only prey. They are far too interesting, making him curious and intrigued. On the odd occasion, he will disguise himself in his person suit on a whim, toying with the mortals and eating them alive. He has devoured countless lives.

As an Eldritch God, Hannibal solely needs fear and death to nourish his power, but he is not content. He always feels a stab of emptiness, as if there is an insatiable beast growing inside him, mauling him, consuming his will. Delicacy and diversion provide him amusement no more, and this endless life starts to become tedious and tasteless. He thought that this was the sign of him fading, that he would perish like the other long-forgotten gods, but after an agonizing passage of time, he is unscathed, strong as always.

One day he just looked around, and there was no one else, only him. For this long period of time, since the day he existed, there is only him. He finally realized the feeling that keeps devouring his heart is his loneliness.

No, he does not need a companion. It would mean someone could understand him, beloved by him, and would make him fragile and vulnerable. He cannot allow such a weakness to exist.

But then, Will Graham hopped into his world with the fearlessness and innocence of a newborn fawn.

Will is beautiful. Even stray dog hairs or the undesirable pungent of the Old Spice cannot mask his beauty. Hannibal could not blink, could not risk to miss any movement the mortal made. When those blue eyes that kept hiding and drifting behind the glasses were finally willing to look at him, in that instant, there was no need to wait for the mischievous Amor and his arrow, Hannibal's heart, which had never melted for any beautiful thing, trembled like a newly-hatched bird.

He used to laugh at the stupidity of the other gods who hopelessly fell in love with the mundane, yet he a powerful and immortal being, also became the victim of love.

His instinct urged him to present Will with nuptial gifts, so he killed a girl to make a gift. He did not consider if Will would accept it or not.

Yet, Will liked it. He did not sound troubled when he described the girl on the field as a delicate gift. He pushed his breakfast away in excitement or even exhilaration, pupils dilating under the spilling sunshine. After a few hours, Will was bathed in the blood of the Shrike. His hands wrapped around the girls neck as if wanting to strangle her. He continued shaking even after Hannibal stabilized the girl's life, but what was written all over his face was not terror. No, he likes killing.

He will be his perfect consort.

Shame that Will is bounded under the useless ethics and morals of the mortals. Hannibal needs to whisper death and love, plant the seeds into the empath's mind. He decides to sneak into Will's dreams which are full of corpses and blood. Will enjoys himself in his dreams. When he slit open Abigail's throat, he stared at the stag Hannibal had turned into, grinning.

And this night the elder god shifts back into the beast clothed with feathers again, which is the only way for him to get into mortals' dreams.

Will is trapped in the limbo between lucidity and dream, walking without consciousness. Hannibal follows the man behind, guards him, and guides the empath to him.

 

 

 

  
The sudden puff of air makes Will stiff. He swallows and looks back. The magnificent stag which follows him secretly lowers the antlers and nudges him with the moist nose, encouraging him to continue his wandering.

Will turns back with confusion, again facing the boundless darkness. With no omen, a blade-like light rips up the silence, forcing Will to cover his face with his arm. The beam of light approaches and splits into two and eventually materializes into an entity—a Bentley car that is definitely unsuited to his dream. It stops right in front of him before a figure approaches. Their countenance is covered with a veil of darkness, the same as the face of the Wendigo. Will gasps. He stumbles backwards, ready to run away from the towering antlers, but the voice is as familiar and soft as a lukewarm current, easily anchoring his unsettled thoughts.

"Will."

Will blinks, disoriented. The man draws nearer, gradually blocking the blazing light. The eclipse created allows Will to see his dark blonde hair and the sharp features. This is not an eerie monster conjured by his sick brain. He breathes out, but he is still perplexed. "Doc..Doctor Lecter?"

"Good evening, Will. You did not pick up my calls. I was worried about you." Hannibal gazes at Will while taking off his woolen coat.

Will frowns, wondering why his dream is getting weirder and weirder, but the warmth surrounding him is too realistic that it scorches his skin. He shivers, and all of his sensations are back at once. The chilly autumn winds pounce on him, seeping through his flimsy T-shirt and boxers. His bare feet are sore with the long treading on the asphalt road. What...what happened?

Grabbing the coat weakly, Will glances around them. There is only a bleak view: the silhouettes of the scarce trees merge with the ink-black sky, stars fade, the sole light here comes from the car, enclosing them, making this tiny place they occupy like an isolated island in an unknown sea.

"I...how did I get here?"

"Will, you must be sleepwalking."

The calm words draw Will's attention back. Hannibal reaches out slowly to smooth away Will's fringe that had been dampened by sweat, allowing his dry but warm palm to check the heat of Will's forehead. Will leans against it subconsciously and his shoulders relax. The presence of the doctor always soothes him.

"You do not have a fever." Hannibal gives Will a relieving smile. As he recedes, his fingertips give Will's cheek a ghostly stroke, almost luring the dazed empath forwards. "Please get into the car. It is not wise to get cold."

Will can only follow Hannibal. His teeth rattle restlessly, and his skin is already covered with the biting frost.

The car door blocks away the harass of the winds, still Will's hands grip the coat tightly. They are pale and shaky. Hannibal takes off his scarf now, Will stops him immediately. "I am fine, Doctor Lecter, you don't have to-"

"I insist. I am not feeling cold. You are more in need." Ignoring the protests, Hannibal wraps his scarf around Will's neck. Ensuring the mongoose is clothed enough, he is finally satisfied.

"Hmm, thanks," Will mumbles. With his head bowed and only daring to look at the dashboard, he rubs the soft wool absent-mindedly. The remaining warmth and the scent of perfume engulf him, settling him.

The doctor still stares at him. He fidgets a bit and glances up timidly.  
  
Hannibal asks: "Do you have a history of sleepwalking, Will?"

"No."

"Did you take medicine or alcohol before you rest?"

"No...oh, just two fingers of whiskey." Will shakes his head, not believing this is the true reason why his body wandering around without his consent. He kneads his glabella and mutters with self-loathing, "I'm not even sure if I'm awake now. Maybe you're just a part of my crazy nightmare."

Hannibal covers his hand. "I am real," he speaks in a gentle voice, but firm and reassuring. "Consider me as a constant. When everything is maddening, when the world becomes absurd, when you cannot breathe, look at me. Look at me, and I will help you to grab the sense of reality. Let me be your paddle, Will, let me be your anchor."

It sounds more like a plea than a suggestion.

A wave of heat soars inside Hannibal's eyes and between their touching skin, overwhelming under the silent night. Will's breath hitches. His heart wants to stop and leap at the same time, pumping so rapidly that nearly fills the cramped space with erratic echoes.

He is attracted to Hannibal.

His eyes infamous for avoiding the others’ always tend to linger on Hannibal when he does not control them carefully, like a feeble moth having no strength to escape from Hannibal’s charm. Unfortunately they are doctor and patient, they should never let their relationship steer into the romantic field. Besides, how would an esteemed and perfect man like Hannibal have even a slight interest in an unstable and broken puppy like him?

It is better to bury these sprouting feelings in his heart, in the same way he covered the bird he killed.

"You...you already are." Will does not recoil, but he cannot bring himself to look at those maroon eyes again.

Having eye contact not only allows the vulgar thoughts of the others pour into his mind, it also exposes the wilderness of his heart, leaving him nowhere to hide.

He does trust Hannibal. He trusts the doctor more than trusting Jack, Alana, or anyone. He lets his heart open, talks about his feelings rarely known by the others and his poor and embarrassing childhood. He is even willing to reveal a bit of his dark and immoral desire to Hannibal. He can disclose his apathy towards murder and death, but this, this feeling, he can never let Hannibal find out. It will ruin everything.

Fortunately, Hannibal is used to his quiet and shyness, he only asks him to buckle up and drives towards his house.

The rumbling engine wakes up the pack. All of the dogs rush towards the door and bark frantically. Will hurries to open the door, but instead of greeting him as usual, they dash out, snarling and showing their teeth to the doctor standing behind Will.

"Shh, shh...what happened? Doctor Lecter is a friend. He's come to feed you a few times before, remember?"

Only barks respond Will. He sighs and demands the pack back to their beds before turning to Hannibal with embarrassment. "Sorry, they usually don't bark at visitors."

"Perhaps they are merely objecting that I did not bring sausage with me tonight." Hannibal follows Will and steps inside. He glances at the dogs and their flattened ears, smiling, "I will prepare more next time."

"To bribe them?" Will raises his eyebrows.

"I believe that you have heard of an idiom saying 'love me, love my dog'."

Hannibal curves his lips into a fond smile, making Will's heart skip a beat. No, no, it...it must be his imagination, right, just an illusion. Will clears his throat, forcing himself to forget about it. "I... Do you want something to drink? Or you need to go back now? Oh, your clothes."

Though right before he can touch the scarf, Hannibal stops him by gripping his wrist and advancing on him. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Will quivers and almost chokes on his own breath. God, Hannibal is planning to do what?

"I do not want you to wake up lost or even injury. At least, let me ensure that you are safe tonight."

The sincere concern makes Will ashamed of his reverie. The doctor is a man of honour, he would never ever take advantage of him.

"I only have one bed." He avoids Hannibal's eyes, teasing out of habit. "Are you going to watch over me the whole night?"

"I could use the couch. I do not sleep deeply. I could check on you if I hear something unusual."

"How could I let you sleep on the couch?"

"Oh, would you generously share your bed with me?" Hannibal asks, tilting his head and squinting, as if he is really thinking of a mischievous plan.

This time Will needs to turn his face away to hide his awkwardness. He murmurs, pouting, "Stay if you want. But don't complain the couch gives you back pain."

Hannibal returns him a smile, like it is a great honor to be able to take a rest on his couch.

And when Will gets out of his bed after tossing and turning for a long time, Hannibal is sleeping soundly on the couch, curling up like an elegant cat. His striking features seem softened by the light of the flickering flame. His eyelashes cast shadows on his face. His silver-blonde hair drapes a bit unruly on the cushion. Had never seen this kind of disheveled sight on the older man, Will cannot stop smiling.

He walks closer without making a sound, wants to tuck back the coat that slid down Hannibal's shoulder, but his eyes stay glued to the exposed throat.

Pulse. Breath. Blood.

Will swallows. What he is holding in his hand now is not a mug anymore. The blade shimmers under the light, reflecting the Wendigo which looms over him. The blistering breath of the beast strikes his nape. Exactly like the sacred breath that bestowed life to the mud men, it raises his desire, pushes his arm, and the metallic light slices down, splitting the blood in a flash.

The doctor snaps open his eyes. Filled with bewilderment and dread, he speaks his name between pain and blood.

Oh, God, what has he done? Why did he do that?

Will drops the hunting knife, panicking, he covers the flooding throat in vain. The mud-like liquid is unstoppable, it rushes and clambers on Will's arms to his neck, to throttle him, to take revenge on him. He whines and raises his arms to struggle, but more blood spouts out from the throat because of the release, enclosing him like a cocoon of death.

"No—no!"

"Will!"

A firm grip from the beast's talons pins his shoulder. Will struggles and screams, but the hand grabs him tighter, and a voice comes softly.

"Will, listen to me, focus on my voice. It is 2:17 a.m., you are in your home in Wolf Trap, and your name is Will Graham. You are having a nightmare, but everything is fine. You will wake up now. You are awake. Take a deep breath."

Will obeys, inhaling the familiar scent of cologne. His tremor soon fade as the warmth embraces him.

"You are safe now. I am here. I got you."

A tender touch and a warm breath rest upon Will's forehead like a gentle kiss from a lover, sending him into a deep and steady sleep.

Will wakes up in the sunlight, wondering if everything was only a dream. However, there are faint scent of food hovering in his house, breakfast laying on the kitchen island, dogs busy munching kibbles, and Hannibal is standing near the screen door with a cup of coffee. Hearing or scenting him, the doctor turns back, the sunlight makes his smile much gentler.

"Good morning, Will. Did you sleep well?"

Will blinks. Hannibal came to comfort him for his nightmare, he knew he had a nightmare. Why would he still asks about it? Wait, that...that was just a part of his dream?

Too confused, Will can only answer: "I had a bad dream." He glances to Hannibal's neck inadvertently. _A dream about slitting your throat._

Hannibal seems oblivious to his thought, "Great. At least you did not sleepwalk again."

Will just nods, he does not want them to dwell on his nightmare.

They take the breakfast to the dining table, and the doctor speaks again. "Onset of sleepwalking in adulthood is less common than in children."

"Could it be a seizure?"

"I would argue good old-fashioned post-traumatic stress."

"I'm not traumatized." Will sets down his fork, looking at Hannibal in confusion.

Hannibal shakes his head. "What you have witnessed is hell. You step inside the mind of the monsters who sculpted these horrific views, try to understand their brutal doings. It is hard to draw yourself back. Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty."

Tentatively, Will bites his lip and nods. His brain is soaking in a sea of blood. He finds it much easier to see the darkness now, because his similar desires are getting stronger and stronger. He even had a dream of killing his psychiatrist. Dreaming is sometimes the mirror to the deepest desires.

Will stares at his coffee cup, letting his fingers nudge its edge. "You said Jack sees me as fine china for special guests, but I am starting to feel like I'm a stained and broken mug."

Hannibal chuckles at his description. "You entered into a devil's bargain with Jack Crawford. It takes a toll."

"Jack isn't the devil." He is.

"When it comes to how far he is willing to push you to get what he wants, he is certainly no saint." Hannibal squints, displeased with the injustice Will is facing, also hurrying Will to pull himself away from this chaos. "I don't care about the lives you saved, I care about your life, Will."

Hannibal takes Will's hand and holds it with gentleness, in a way that Will had never encountered before.

Will holds his breath, he cannot move an inch. Their eyes lock like two magnets attracting to each other. Hannibal caresses his joints with his thumb. Too intimate. Will wants to recoil but he is transfixed under this loving touch, like a miserable stray that is afraid but also longing for it.

This is too far, even best friends won't do that.

"Will—"

Before Hannibal enchants him further, Will's phone untimely and timely starts vibrating, giving Will an excuse to draw back his hand.

Will raises his eyebrows. "Speak of the devil."

Hannibal is not annoyed for the interruption, he even teases about it. "Don't pick up, Will, it must be an ill omen of death."

"I dare not to break the deal with the devil." Will shakes his head then fails to suppress his laugh. He leaves his seat to answer the call, and he comes back with a deep frown.

Hannibal stands and straightens his collar. "Do you need me to accompany you?"

Will almost jumps. "But—but you have patients."

"They can be rearranged." _You are the most important one._

Will blushes for that clear reading. His hesitation is misinterpreted as acquiescence, Hannibal has already put on his coat, Will has no time to stop him.

 

 

 

  
The pair of unclothed mortals kneel in front of the bed, praying with their flesh and skin peeled from the bones and reaching to the sky like the divine wings of angels.

This is not the most brutal scene Hannibal has seen. The mortals always have an astonishing creativity on their violent deeds.

At the time when the human worshipped almost every unnatural thing, they were fanatical and ludicrous. He indeed likes the taste of human flesh, but he has never asked for any offering. As the human will not demand their livestock to reverence them, he does not care if they will prostrate themselves and kiss the earth he walked on. Yet, the mortals staged their sacrifices voluntary, for war, for peace, for wealth, for harvest, and for those insignificant and pointless wants, some pushed themselves into the fire, some were dragged into the executions. There were rivers of blood and fields of bone. Hannibal is fond of these farces. He misses the barbaric era.

If the custom was unchanged, now he would only need to say a word, then the mortals would offer Will to him with great gratitude, or Will would even give himself to him in delight, kiss his instep, and call him Lord.

No. It is not what he truly wants.

Will will be his consort, his equal half.

Hannibal tilts his head to observe the empath standing before the bed. Will has no anxiety about the bodies. He asks for a plastic sheet in monotone, intending to lie among the sacrifices. Hannibal needs all of his self-control to force himself to leave the room.

 

 

 

  
He does not need to be worshipped. He is afraid, afraid that he will die in his dream, so he made the angels to watch him sleep.

"Brain injury or abnormality could cause fascinating signs and symptoms." Hannibal glances through the rows of his collection. He finally pulls out one of the medical books and drops it down from the balcony carefully. He leans to the edge to see the empath bury his beautiful mind on the pages. "Someone's skull was penetrated completely but had no problem except a slight change on personality. Someone could see the light of the angels and hear the whispers of the saints. As for our Angel Maker, what kind of sound is reverberating in his ears? The echo of his own, or the real revelation?"

Will shrugs, the frustration makes him flip the pages roughly, creating wrinkles but finding no insight. "Maybe I was wrong. How do you profile someone who is controlled by a tumor in his head? They can experience any inconceivable thing, their world makes no sense and also their behaviours. ”

Hannibal waits until after Will ruffles his hair to give vent to his irritation. "A tumor can definitely affect brain function, even cause vivid hallucinations. However, what appears to be driving him to create heaven on earth is a simple issue of mortality."

Will sneers, remembering the theory of superiority and powerfulness. "Can't beat God, become him?"

Maybe he should resort this method when dealing with his own madness. It would make him feel more at ease.

"You said he was afraid."

"Yes, but-" There is more. A deeper reason. Fear is only a by product. Facing the inevitable death all alone. "He feels abandoned.”

"Ever feel abandoned, Will?" Hannibal asks abruptly, as always trying to diverge their conversation back to Will himself.

Will recalls his long-gone mother and those countless lonely nights. He has no mood to confide those thoughts now, and he also does not want pity from the doctor. "Abandonment requires expectation."

"What were your expectations of Jack Crawford and the FBI?"

Will frowns with confusion. "Jack hasn't abandoned me."

"Not in any discernible way. Perhaps in the way gods abandon their creations. You say he hasn't abandoned you, but at the same time you find yourself wandering around Wolf Trap in the middle of the night. "

Will tilts his head to contemplate, cannot help but chuckle. "Well, this should be interesting. Please, doctor, proceed."

Hannibal gives him a subtle smile, clasping his hands. "Jack gave you his word he would protect your headspace, yet he leaves you alone to your mental devices."  
  
Will suddenly realizes Hannibal has never spoken a good word about Jack. A well mannered man like Hannibal would never criticize the others that relentlessly, so why? "Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?"

"I'm trying to help you understand this Angel Maker you seek." Hannibal is unfazed. "If he were a classic paranoid schizophrenic, you might be able to influence him to become visible."

"What?" Will still wants to question about Jack, but solving this case is much more important. "Like scare him out into the daylight?"

"Might even get him to hurt himself, if he hasn't already."

"If he were self-destructive, he- he wouldn't be so careful."

"Unless he is careful about being self-destructive, making angels to pray over him when he sleeps." Hannibal pauses, his words seem implicating something dark. "Who prays over us when we sleep?"

 

 

 

  
The thud of a fallen whiskey glass wakes Will.

He snaps open his eyes. Only darkness enters his view. Strangely, the light of the bedside lamp emerges slowly in the peripheral of his sight like a sunrise...no, not the light appearing, it is the darkness moving further and further away.

Wendigo.

That humanoid creature is consuming the light around him, staring at Will at his bedside while tilting his canopy of antlers. Curiosity and fascination spark in his dark gaze.

The Wendigo speaks. The empty and low voice sounds like echo of Will's, vibrating inside his skull.

_Don't be afraid. I made the angels to watch over you._

The laughter scratches Will's spine, making all of his hairs stand.

The Wendigo removes himself out of Will's sight, revealing the praying pair that kneel in front of his bed; their bloodied wings extend to the ceiling under the divine light.

_I am here._

The ominous murmur of the beast starts to precipitate, solidifies in his ears, and becomes a voices he is so familiar to—

"Will."

Hannibal says.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unresolved sexual tension and a much creepier Hannibal

   
"I dream more now than I used to." Will shakes his head, confessing to his sweating palms. He is suffocating, As if there is a hermetic muzzle trapping his breath, as if he is stuck with his dreadful nightmares again.

"Your dreams were the one place you could be physically safe." Hannibal watches Will pace in anxiety. He softens his voice further. "A sanctuary which allows you to escape yourself from the more horrendous reality."

"Not anymore." Will grinds his teeth, eyes darting around, as if looking out for a monster that lurks in the shadows of the room. He finds nothing, but his breath remains uneven when he turns back. "I saw them, right in front of my bed. The angels were praying when I was asleep." And not for him. _To him._

"How did you feel about it?"

"How would I feel about it? How would people feel about it?" Will sneers. He knows the answer to his last question. Sadly it does not apply to him.

He has no fear, he is not frail, he is nothing like the ill-minded Angel Maker. He is strong, audacious, and these people are merely pigs to him.

Damn. He is sick. What exactly is wrong with him?

Hannibal moves his lips and pauses, choosing his words. Will thinks it will be a criticism about his nauseous dream, but Hannibal only inquires, a faint and bizarre interest lying under his mild tones, "Did you kill them in your dream?"

He wishes. "No." They were already there. The Wendigo finished the labour for him.

That beast is simply a creature inhabiting in his nightmares, or the rendition of his own brewing darkness, he is not sure.

Will's resolute response gives no place for Hannibal to comment on. The doctor resorts to changing their subject. "Have you unraveled how the Angel Maker is choosing his victims?"

Will nods, tracing back to the discussion on vigilante and God. "He doesn't see people how everyone else sees them. He can tell if you're naughty or nice, or he thinks he can."

Hannibal curves up his lips, intrigued by this ability similar to Will's empathy. "So God has given this person insight into the souls of men."

"God didn't give him insight. He gave him a tumor," Will snorts. His aimless steps bring him to the stag sculpture. He reaches to stroke its antlers, seeking comfort from physical touch. "He's just a man whose brain is playing tricks on him. I've tried to reconstruct his thinking, find his patterns, but all are fruitless. "

"And you find yourself in a behavior pattern you cannot break." Hannibal follows Will, he stands behind him and watches him petting the stag. "You should realize you have a choice."

"What choice?"

"The Angel Maker will be destroyed by what is happening inside his head; you do not have to follow his path."

Hannibal urges him to leave again. Perhaps this is the most reasonable choice he could make. What stirring inside him will not destroy him, but one day it will be free and devastate everything around him.

Will bites his lower lip and presses his fingers against the pointed antlers, allowing the pain to punish him, to remind him how dangerous it will be if his beast is unchained.

A sniff. Directly behind him.

Will lifts up his head in slight shock. He knits his eyebrows together, wondering if his brain is tricking him again. "D-did you just smell me?"

"Difficult to avoid." To his surprise, Hannibal admits it with no deflection, like it is just a natural behaviour of people as that of a dog. "I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle."

Will shrugs to the distaste in Hannibal's voice. "I keep getting it for Christmas."

He hears a titter as he turns around. The older man is gazing at him, eyes filled with adoration. It is solely a fleeting illusion, Hannibal lowers his eyes and regards him seriously now. "I had no intention to be rude. I discovered my keen sense of smell when I was a young man. I was aware that one of my teachers had a stomach cancer way before he was."

Will hums with unease, worrying if Hannibal can smell his rotten heart, and what Hannibal says is very close. "I sense your perturbation and even distress. However they are certainly not only related to this case. What is bothering you?"

Hannibal takes a step, slow and measured, like approaching a nervous animal. "You know Will, you can tell me anything."

His fantasy of killing Garret Jacob Hobbs again and again, his impulse of strangling Abigail to death, and the little bird crushed by his hands. All of these scenes like blood bursts out from Will's throat. He swallows them back just in time, but the burning pain from concealing his words spreads through his chest.

Will turns his head away and wanders back to the center of the room where the light is brighter and the air is less suppressive.

He wants to be candid with Hannibal. The only uncompromised words he can utter fearlessly are: "I can't quit. These cases...I like solving them. I need to solve them."

"Saving lives makes you feel good, however, in exchange for your life."

"It's not only for saving people. I like catching these monsters. I like solving their thoughts."

"Like solving an intriguing enigma?"

It is more...

"What they create...is fascinating."

Submerging himself into their darkest minds is the safest way for him to relieve his comparable desire. It starts to become a drug; he is addicted. He craves for more.

"That is the reason for your fear." Hannibal tries to catch his darkened irises, observing him with a tilted head, treating him as a resplendent jewel that merits admiration. "You are terrified because of your fondness towards their arts."

"I am not terrified." Will tries to strengthen each word, but it ends up making his lie much more obvious.

Though Hannibal seems to believe him without a doubt, lowering his head in introspection. "Perhaps the scent of your cologne misled me, making me believe what I sensed was a smell of terror. I must buy you a better gift for Christmas."

Will looks up abruptly. There is no sign of joking on Hannibal's face. They are not good friends, or the kind that would exchange presents on Christmas, at least not yet...

Will swallows and gives a dry laugh. "So according to your professional opinion, what kind of cologne is more suitable for me, Doctor?”

Curving those thin and charming lips, Hannibal responds to him by a silent approach.

Hannibal comes forward with no malice, but Will's instinct drives him to stumble backward. He bumps into the desk, no way to escape. The hair on his neck erect all together.

Too—too close. Will clenches his jaw, using all of his mental strength to control his expression and his legs that want to flee away. Hannibal stops before his toes, and at that moment Will lets out a breath. Hannibal leans towards him and sniffs his neck.

An electric shiver runs down Will's spine, drowning him in a deep red blush and evoking an inappropriate stiffness to his groin.

"Olfaction is a primal and influential sense," Hannibal says near Will's ear, tempting him and fuddling his mind like a whisper of the devil. "Smell defines our taste. Though this has been unnoticed for most people. After all, many animals’ noses are superior to ours—but humans can in fact distinguish their parents and siblings from strangers only based on their scents. The smell can even affect our choice of partners. You can use a better fragrance to entrance the people you want." The sight of Will's Adam apple bobbing as he swallows for the words draws a smirk on Hannibal's lips. "I would suggest sea and pine. They could bring out your natural odour, Will."

Hannibal reclines on him, as if wanting to press his nose to Will's skin. This startles Will into gasping and leaping aside.

"Th—thanks for the advice. Ah, what, what time it is, I’ve got to go now." Will makes a detour to avoid Hannibal while scrambling towards the exit. Without waiting for another man's response, he seizes back his jacket and dashes out like a scared rabbit.

 

 

 

  
This night Will does not see any pale bodies or a crimson stream, but his dream takes a terrible turn.

"You have listened to my advice." Hannibal corners him to the desk again, arms reach out and palms place on the edge of the table, effectively cutting off the way to escape on both sides and trapping Will in this finite space that allows no breath to leave.

"Doctor Lecter-"

"Shh." The man leans closer, disregarding the distress that written all over Will's face.

The shortening distance forces Will to slant backward. The desk pressing up behind him, there is no way for him to elude more. Will almost loses his balance and falls back onto the desk, but Hannibal still has no intention to halt. His chest touches Will's undulating one, and his warmth and breath invade Will wantonly. Will turns his head away, however giving Hannibal a chance to get nearer to his jaw and inhale all of his scents.

"Your aroma is delicious Will, entrancing my heart completely."

Lips carrying a satisfied smile alights on Will's ear, making his cheeks blush deeply. His protests just come to his throat, a sudden wet lick to his earlobe sends a shiver down his spine.

"I wonder how the other parts of you would taste like."

Hannibal reaches to Will's collar and undoes all of the buttons in a blink of an eye. He peels off the shirt immediately, hands come to caress the empath's porcelain skin.

"Wait, d-don't..." Will pushes the inexorable arms weakly. He hates his raspy voice and his escalating heartbeat. "We are doctor and patient."

"I have never seen you as a patient, Will. I am attracted to you. My fondness for you... do not lie to me that it is not reciprocated." Hannibal glances up and reveals a charming smirk that clutches at his heart sweetly.

No, no, this is not his doctor. Hannibal will never look at him with such thirst and … hunger.

Will shakes his head and tries to shove the man away, but Hannibal is unbudged and sniggers at him, "How could you deny me, my dear Will? I can sense your growing excitement for me."

Hannibal's hands move like spiders. They skitter across Will's chest, touch his stomach, and reaches to his crotch- Will wakes up with a start.

Well, he is still on his bed, has not dawdled to the highway or thrown himself through a window. Though, he is covered in sweat, hot and panting and hard for the indecent fantasy from his subconsciousness.

God, how can he face his psychiatrist now?

Facepalming, Will jumps out of the bed and rushes into a cold shower to force himself calm down. Then he lies back in his bed, the black-and-white Wendigo looms over him, bares the sharpened teeth to him and tears his throat. Will is awake again.   
  
Fortunately, the vague light of dawn has already risen from the horizon. He does not have to go back to his arousing or harrowing dreams now.

 

 

 

  
The pack is already barking before he kills the engine. Hannibal only smiles.

His power and scent are veiled under his human form, even inconspicuous to another god, but the animals always have a knack for detecting something suspicious with him.

Paying the aggression no mind, Hannibal strides across the porch and pushes open the unlocked door. The dogs recede immediately, but their growls get louder and louder. Without the consolation from their master, one of them even tries to aim its teeth at his legs.

Hannibal shushes them, and he is up to his old tricks, pulling out some sausages to draw all of the attention to his fist. The dogs sit instantly, all raising their heads to get a better sniff at the food. He nods to their obedience in satisfaction, finally splits the sausages into pieces and throws them into those ravenous maws.

Can be able to sniff out his otherworldly aura, but cannot distinguish the taste of long pig.

Hannibal curves up his lips and let the dogs out before turning back to the house.

When not full of chaos or dog hairs, Will's home is kept in a cosy order. It has not changed much after his last visit. He casually glances over the book spines, the piano keys, and the fishing lures in front of the window, then enters the kitchen to place the food containers into the empty fridge. He leaves a note for Will, hoping the mongoose will not use an unhealthy takeout for dinner tonight. After that, he indulges himself to explore the second floor.

The windows of the bedroom are closed tightly, trapping and concentrating Will's scent in the room. Shower gel, shampoo, sweat, nightmare, and the tangy aroma similar to the one emitted from Will last night. Arousal.

Giving no courtesy now, Hannibal grabs up the blanket which once wrapped around Will's body tightly. He takes a deep sniff. The intoxicating scent draws an animalistic growl from his throat.

Will...What was Will thinking about on his bed? Was he aching for him?

Hannibal grunts again, regretting not peeping Will's dream last night.

 

 

 

  
They find the Angel Maker in the barn, where he was almost suffocated in the merciless grips of smoke and told that there was a guardian angel protecting him. If the fireman knew the ripple of his simple words would cause many blood spills in the future, would he push the child back to the jaws of the angry fire, or would he directly eliminate this scourge with his hands?

What an irony.   
  
"It wasn't God, it wasn't man. It was his choice to die." After his words were spoken, he just realizes his voice was heavy with disdain; his monster controlled him. He lowers his head quickly to diverge his attention and bites his lip to controls his breath. "I don't know how much longer I can be all that useful to you, Jack." He will be one of the killers they chase.

"Really? You caught three." Jack stares at him in disbelief, his tone is even carrying admire. "The last three we had, you caught. You caught three of them."

"No, I didn't catch this one." Will glimpses the hanging angel and immediately averts his eyes. "He surrendered."

If you can't beat them, join them.

He can feel it, the madness inside him is growing exponentially like a ruthless tumor, and he does not want to fight it.

"It's getting harder and harder to make myself look. My thoughts are fading."

"What is it about this one?"

"It isn't this one. It's all of them. It's the next one, it's the one that I know is coming after that."

"You wanna go back to your lecture hall and read about the next one on Tattle Crime?" Jack raises his voice. His dark glare like a scorpion's stinger pinning through Will.

"No, I don't. But that may be what I have to do. This is bad for me." Will shakes his head while clutching his curls.

He must look like a kicked puppy now, Jack's words relent a bit. "I'm not your father, Will. I'm not gonna tell you what you ought to do."

_No. He is using you._

Hannibal's alerts resonate in his brain.

_How far is he willing to push you to get what he wants?_

"Seems like that's exactly what you're gonna do."He snaps, but it does not deter Jack.   
  
"You go back to your classroom. When there's killing going on that you could've prevented, it will sour your classroom forever."

"Then maybe I'll find a job as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard." Will throws out in a pique, but he knows it is impossible. He can never let go.

"You wanna quit? Quit," Jack says with a sudden indifference. He leaves the barn without a glance back. It is clearly an attempt to dare Will, and the inability to resign makes Will more frustrated.

Will grinds his teeth to the closed door and inhales deeply. When he turns back, the man who was supposed to be dead lands on the ground and stumbles towards him; the glowing knife in his hand draws nearer and nearer. Will gasps and recedes instantly, hand reaching for his gun holder while the Angel Maker kneels before him, smiling, as if paying homage to him.

"I see what you are."

"What do you see?" Will asks in an uncontrollable tremor.

"Inside. I can bring it out of you." The flame flares in the fallen angel's eyes, like the fire from the deepest hell, burning the reflection of Will's sinful soul. "I can give you the majesty of your becoming."

 

 

 

  
The doctor does not scrutinize his mental state after hearing the narrative, instead his attention is on somewhere much deeper like every time he hears about the lingering ghost of Garret Jacob Hobbs.

"The Angel Maker targeted criminals, and he came to you. Do you consider yourself amoral?"

_Yes._

He has never done something malignant, but his nature is very evil.

Will suppresses his breath. His twisted lips show a subtle bitterness. "It was my subconscious trying to punish me?"

"Perhaps it was in fact the ghost of the Angel Maker staggered to you and pronounced his judgement on you."

Will scowls. He cannot determine if the doctor is kidding or not. Hannibal is almost unfathomable like a winter lake or a bottomless chasm. The careful words and composed expressions can tranquilize his tumultuous mind, still sometimes they just make Will annoyed. Guess, he can only guess Hannibal's thoughts, and response he gets also give him no hint.

"There's no ghost. No heaven. No afterlife. Only the illusions in your brain," Will mumbles. "The bright light you see when you're near death is only the disordered electric pulses formed in your visual cortex due to the drastic reduction of blood supply. You were a surgeon, Doctor Lecter, you should know more than me."

Hannibal smiles with a frown, as if Will is sleep talking. "You cannot disprove the existence of ghosts."

Will snorts and returns the tease to the older man. "And you cannot prove the existence of ghosts. I didn't know you are a believer of supernatural things, Doctor."

"You are the one keeps seeing corpses and ghosts. I am merely an open-minded person. So, Will, do not be afraid that you will scare me, you can tell me that-" Hannibal inclines forwards with a serious face, but his wrinkled eye corners are clearly hiding a laugh. "You are a psychic that can communicate with the dead."

"Well." Will clears his throat, holding back his laugh to play along. He sighs and leans back to the chair, rubs his face and stares at Hannibal between his fingers. His glance is like from the eyes of a beast that skulks behind the cover of leaves. "I wanted to tell you from the beginning, doctor, there're many patients following you around with their chest and stomach opened."

Hannibal raises his eyebrows, and he really looks behind his chair, "May I have the honor to know whom I am looking at right now?"

Will can no longer restrain his laughter. He waves his hand to get rip of the topic. "Nah. I do hope that I have the ability to see them, so I can catch their murderers much easier." Though his shoulders pain him for the movement, making him wince slightly.

Of course it cannot escape the doctor's meticulous observation. Hannibal shifts and examines him. "Have you rested well these past two days, Will? Do you have any nightmare you want to talk about?"

The questions are like a violent stir to a quiet pond, reminding Will the embarrassing dream he had gladly forgotten. His breath stops and his eyes avert automatically. He can face neither the doctor in his dream nor the doctor in front of him. "I—I'm fine. J—just the same old theme, bodies and blood, nothing special." But his stammer lessens his credibility.

"Dream can reflect our primeval urges. Angry, violent, or even a sexual one. This is a natural thing. There is no reason for you to be self-conscious about them."

"No, just, nothing." Will needs to hide his face now.

"Will," Hannibal calls to encourage. "Please answer me with honesty. I am solely trying to help you."

"Why do you think that I am hiding something from you?" Will shakes his head with disapproval. He really wants to stop this conversation now.

"Patients on this chair or on their hospital beds are all prone to conceal the things that they see as shameful. However, it will bring only deterrence to the diagnosis and therapy. I have encountered many deceitful patients, Will, I believe you are not one of them."

"But you keep saying that I'm not your patient." Will snorts and seizes the chance to diverge the topic immediately. "Why did you stop being a surgeon?"

Hannibal parts his lips, then to Will's relief, decides to let him pass. "I killed someone. More accurately, I could not save someone, but it felt like killing them."

The doctor's voice sounds flat and impassive. Will cannot stay suspicious, it should have happened a long time ago. Besides, "You were an ER surgeon. It has to happen from time to time."

Hannibal nods. "It happened one time too many. I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies, and no one has died as a result of my therapy." he pauses, checks his watch, and looks back to Will. "Can I invite you to dine with me tonight, Will? It seems that I have never shown my culinary skills to you."

Will breaks into a smile. "The breakfast that morning and the food keeps piling inside my fridge doesn’t count?"

"They are relatively simple dishes."

There is still hesitation on Will's face, Hannibal heartens further. "I promise I would not use the time to probe your brain. It would be just a dinner between friends."

"Okay." Will mutters, having no reason to reject.

Hannibal rewards him with a warm smile.

 

 

 

  
Doctor Lecter's home resides in the richest neighbourhood in Baltimore, Will has no amazement when he parks near the house, but feels strongly out of place with his cheap car, shabby clothes, and his scruffy appearance. He scowls ruefully and attempts to pat off the dog hairs before getting out of the car, trying hard not to look like a poor stray following Hannibal home.

Even before he crosses the threshold, he can already feel the glamorous and luxurious atmosphere from the view of the foyer. He tenses like he steps into a forbidden cave.

They are totally different people. He is a humble grass that grows in relentless wind and cold rain and crude stamps, and Hannibal is a beautiful tulip that blooms in warmth and caring and tenderness he will never receive. He definitely already used up all of his luck of this life to meet this man.

Will sighs in his heart while taking off his worn jacket absent-mindedly. At the same time Hannibal reaches out to help him, their fingers brushed together, the electricity arose shocks into Will, causing him to withdraw instantly.

"Sor—sorry."

His hands are constantly dipped in mud, diesel, and blood. He must have just stained Hannibal's hand with those stinky smells.

"No need to apologize." The doctor is as gentle as always. "I thought we agreed using apology sparingly."

"Yeah, right." Will laughs dryly as Hannibal continues the act, does not dare to move an inch. "You don't have to..." He swallows for the closeness, and he is still frozen after Hannibal's hands remove from him to hang the jacket. Just before he has a second thought, he blurts out a tease to cover his awkwardness. "Am I your date, Doctor Lecter?"

"If you would like to be." Hannibal smirks, making Will blush promptly.

Does—does he always do that to everyone?

Will desperately needs the man to stop using his charm on him.

He glares at Hannibal's back in a silent grumble.

Hannibal stops now and introduces him to his comfy yet still opulent living room. "You can stay here, Will. I am afraid that the dinner needs at least an hour to be prepared."

Will gives an inattentive hum, busy sizing up the vast space. He needs to let himself to be familiar with a new environment, but he does not think the doctor will allow him to roam over his home like what he did to his office in their first session.

The living room looks like it should belong to a museum, with all the artistic decorations and even the air depicting a historical European era. Will is surprised for the existence of a TV above the fireplace.

"You can turn on the TV if you want." Hannibal misreads Will's persisting stare. He walks to the couch to adjust the position of the already-tidy cushions, and he looks up with a beam. "Make yourself comfortable."

"No. I'm just...didn't expect you will own a TV." Will chuckles for his silly thought.

Hannibal returns to him, cocking his head with a smile. "What is your expectation of me, Will?" His question is like a tease, half curious and half playing.

He wishes Hannibal can be his lover one day. "What can I say?" It is just a wildest dream. "You're a good psychiatrist."

"Only a good psychiatrist?"

"Hmm, and a good chef."

"You have not tried my dishes yet." Hannibal reaches and touches his shoulder when passing, "Comment after dinner."

"Wait, let me help you."

"You are my guest, Will. Please."

Will can only follow the instruction, sitting on the couch with a glass of fine wine and the TV on, mind idle and thoughts wandering like every time he sits in the waiting room of the doctor.

He does not know how he got himself here, like, why will Hannibal want to have dinner with him? Giving him food, taking care of his pack, visiting him whenever he calls. Hannibal is treating him so nicely. His care is pure, nothing out of pity or obligation. This makes Will fall deeper and deeper for him.

Soon he will not be able to obscure his feelings anymore. How will Hannibal react when he discovers it? No, he will not rudely chide him for it, of course. He will say that he appreciates Will finds him attractive, but as a professional psychiatrist, he will transfer Will to another therapist. It cannot continue with Will's improper feeling towards him.

Will breathes out his bitterness, delving into his alcohol. He finishes his glass way before the fragrance of the butter swirls into the living room. It must be the wine taking effect on him, he blurts out again when Hannibal guides him through the hallway. "Why do you have such an enormous house for you alone, Doctor? Don't you feel the emptiness echoing in the empty space sometimes?"

Though his implication is lost in his slur, Hannibal answers. "Just like you, I enjoy the tranquility. I used to live in a castle in Lithuania."

He is simply stating a fact, but it still renders Will speechless for a few seconds.

"Wait, are- are you a prince or something like that? Prince Charming?" Will taunts with a side glance.  
  
Hannibal halts in front of the kitchen, turns to him, and retaliates with a flirtatious leer. "Do you find me charming, dear Will?"

Will can feel his face heated up. He dodges into the kitchen for breathing properly, and he discerns that agreeing and denying the words will both do him no good.

"Who would’t find you appealing, Doctor Lecter?" He puffs, touching the smooth surface on the kitchen island. "It's odd that you're still single. Maybe you're too perfect that no one can match you?"

Hannibal just gives a noncommittal hum, placing a palm on Will's shoulder blade, "Would you like to set the table?"

Will is glad that he can be useful to the chef. But when he carries the utensils to the dining room, he finds himself facing a dilemma again. Where...should he sit?

It is too formal to sit opposite the host, and this face-to-face arrangement would just like the one in their session, exposing him under the direct gaze of the doctor. However the place beside the host holds an important and intimate role. Would it be offensive that he assumed that seat was preserved to him? Hannibal insists they are friends, so, just...

Will hesitantly walks beyond the end of the table as if there is a monster waiting to be served. He lays out the utensils in his best effort, then takes a seat on the right side and glances around the room, pondering if Hannibal really plants his own herbs, and why he hang a sensual painting like Leta and the Swan in his dining room. Hmm, no, it is just another grandiloquent art, don't overthink it.

Will straightens himself up as the footsteps appear. Hannibal brings in the wine and the sumptuous appetizer gracefully. "Coquilles Saint-Jacques. Scallops and mushrooms sautéed in butter and enriched by Gruyère cheese."

"Thank you." The golden colour and the rich scent put a smile on Will's face. "It looks beautiful."

"I am flattered." Hannibal says with sincerity. He leans closer while pouring the wine into Will's glass, breath fluttering at the tip of his ear. "Will, you were right, my heart had never been touched by anyone I’ve met before."

Will blinks twice to realize Hannibal is referring to their last topic.

"Had." He swallows and repeats it dryly. The word lacerates his throat when it crawls out like a trapped animal. "Ah, congratulations."

Hannibal chuckles. His voice is softened by the lovesickness that Will had never imagined he could hear from him, "I am still pursuing them. They are reticent and too shy, easy to be startled by a forward movement."

Will stares at the wine pouring in to Hannibal's glass; he can smell the sourness from it. "You...you are not stating their gender." He wonders who they are. Is it someone they both know? Could it be...Alana?

"Gender is not something that concerns me." Hannibal says casually as he wipes the opening of the wine bottle.

Will would be elated if he heard this assertion in other conversations, but now he cannot even look at Hannibal who settles near him. Though his stillness draws attention to him.   
  
"Will? Is it a problem to you?"

"No, absolutely not. I'm no judging you or anything. I'm- I'm just curious of who has the ability to catch your eyes."

Hannibal only reveals a mysterious smile. "You will know."

Will cannot promise that at that time he will not have an impulse of harming or even killing that person.

He picks up the fork and knife. He does not know if his internal growl comes from his stomach or his beast.

They eat in a nearly complete silence. Hannibal does try to lighten Will with some questions and sharing, still Will can only utter simple responses, much more closed off than the first day they met. It worries the doctor. Hannibal keeps glancing at him with concern, but that only makes him evade more.

"You are very quiet tonight." Hannibal finally points out when he accompanies Will to the door. "Did I do something indecorous that upset you?"

"What? No, no. I guess I'm just tired. Sorry." Will grabs back and clutches his jacket to his chest subconsciously, chiding himself for lying to Hannibal. But what response he can give? That he was planning to do harm during the whole dinner? That he was ruminating about how much pain a table knife can induce? Nope. "Thank you for the dinner, Doctor Lecter. I enjoyed it. You're an excellent chef."

"Visit me anytime you want. I will be pleased to cook for you." Hannibal opens the door and looks through the dimness. "Let me walk you to your car."

"Don't bother. I'll be fine," Will steps into the cold winds quickly, then realizes he has not said goodbye to Hannibal. He turns his head back, eyes fixed at the shadows on the porch longingly, "Umm, good night, Doctor Lecter."

"Good night, Will."

Will is about to turn around, but Hannibal's lips touch his cheek. It burns his skin and his heart.

Will has no idea how he gets into his car.

That—that was purely an European custom between friends, but it is...it is enough. Hannibal already has a lover, then why still seduces him like that?

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
When he hears that they found a new work of the Chesapeake Ripper, the darkness residing inside him grasps his heart.

The killings of the Ripper are always elegant and aesthetic. Even though he loathes his own dark side, Will admires the killer's arts.

However the Ripper had been dormant for two years, why does he appear now? Is it truly a work of the Ripper? Can he finally visit his crime scene in person?

Will's beast squirms like an over-excited dog ready for a walk, but what it waits is a liberation not a leash. Will clenches his fists and tightens the tether as he follows Jack and Doctor Chilton into the room.

The nurse lies on a bed of poles. She stares at him with her empty eye sockets, whispering a hellish sight.

Will's stomach churns with an abrupt sense of disgust, but not for the frightful sight. He cannot tell its origin at this moment, so he only closes his eyes, letting the pendulum drop and sway with his steady heartbeats.

They were too stupid to allow a powerless nurse be alone with him.

Only a twist of his wrists already unbound him from the shackles. He stood freely, and she, still turning her back to a predator, had no foresight of her looming fate.

He smiled quietly and ripped off the electrodes, provoking the machines into blaring loudly. Despite the urgent warning, the nurse turned with ease, and eventually took him into her view. He beamed.

Wasting no time, he shoved the shocked prey to the rack, grabbed her skull, and pinned his thumbs into the fragile eyeballs. The sweat scream satisfied him, making him release the prey to the ground and give her a chance to run. She tried hard to crawl away in the complete darkness, but unfortunately to a wrong direction.

He stood still to admire the dripping blood coming towards him. Her hands grabbed his ankles. She begged for mercy. He laughed and raised the infusion stand, stabbed in her back, and again and again and again. He repeated the act, replicated the work, following the instruction forced into him. He had no thought. He lost his self. He did not know who he was.

He is not the Ripper.

He imitated the Ripper, plagiarized his work, stained his art, stains _his mind._

The searing temper for the outright offence quickens Will's breath. He opens his eyes immediately, takes several deep breaths, and forces himself to relax his clenching fists. But the burnt smell remains.

Gideon is just an abominable impostor. Still the others only see the Ripper on the body.

Will sighs; he has not much spirit to argue. "I see the Ripper but I don't...feel the Ripper. He's an artist. And this is...plagiarism."

Jack gives him a side glance. "We never made the wound patterns on any of the Ripper victims public."

"Maybe he's the Ripper, I don't know. But if he's a plagiarist..." Will rubs his tied eyebrows, the persisting anger emanates from his nose like a smoke from an incensed dragon. "The real Chesapeake Ripper is going to make sure everybody knows it."

 

 

 

  
Well, he did not expect this.

A similar room. A similar show. A similar pile of standing poles, supporting the pale and uncovered body of a girl. Her chest is wide open; the brown hair drapes down like a veil. Like a bird food impaled on the thorns, ready to summon the hungry crows from the field.

The branches-like antlers sprout out from her abdomen.

The Shrike.

The Copycat.

"Chesapeake Ripper."

The realization strikes Will and makes him shudder. His pupils dart back to Jack and dilate like black holes.

"Th—this girl, Marissa Schurr, and Cassie Boyle...all are his victims. It's him. It's always him."

"Wait, wait, Will." Jack raises his hand, as if a can stall Will's soaring thoughts. "You mean Nicholas Boyle not only killed Marissa Schurr, but also her sister? He is the Copycat and the Ripper?"

"No, no. He is neither of them." Will cannot hold his sneer to this absurd obliviousness. They are so blind. So mindless. "That's just a trick. Framing Nicholas Boyle as a deceit. The Ripper has never stop killing; he is using an alias to kill right under our noses. Clever, very clever."

"Will, I don't—"

"Look, Jack, look. The victim this time had the same properties again—same hair colour, same eye colour, same age, same height. She was a perfect prey to Garret Jacob Hobbs. If you look inside, you will find her also missing her lungs like Cassie Boyle."

Beverly approaches to inspect, then nods to them.

"The Chesapeake Ripper hates the act of stealing, you can see that from his immediate resurgence. But why would he duplicate the antler girl of the Copycat? Garret Jacob Hobbs and the Copycat have nothing to do with this. He was not only debunking Gideon, he also came to claim his previous works."

"But why would he do that?" Brian raise his hand like Will's student. "The Ripper could just redo any of his old works to prove he is the real one, then why he also revealed he's the Copycat to ruin this useful disguise?"

"I—I don't know..." Will is disheartened suddenly. Why? The girl on the antlers was made to help him see the Shrike. But what is this girl for?

"Well, this is not really a replica of Cassie Boyle." Jimmy's words draws Will back. He holds the girl's cheeks, like staring at a gem buried under dirt. "Unlike the work of the Copycat, unlike the work of Gideon, her eyelids were cut away."

Will blinks. He draws nearer. The darkened eyeballs stare at him, and they change into the obsidian eyes of the stag and reflect a face, the face of the Wendigo.

_Look at me._

Will swallows. He staggers back but cannot shift away his gaze.

"He is jealous."

 

 

 

  
"Have you ever experienced a stab of jealousy, Will?"

"Who won't, doctor?" Will sniggers, but Hannibal just continues with silence and the patient gaze to wait for his answer, already accustomed to his tease and avoidance. He can only sigh.

"I used to feel it often when I was a child." He glances at the painting behind Hannibal as he traces his past. "After school, on visiting days, on field days, when looking at the other kids with their parents, I always wondered why my mother was not there with me, why she forsaken me. But it's really childish. The things you're envious of, usually are the things that you can never have. So, I don't strive for them. Now, hmm, I'd say that I'm the one who causes jealousy to my family. The other dogs are always jealous of Winston. I try to be fair, but you know, he still needs more TLC." He smiles unknowingly, then pauses. "Oh, thank you again for taking care of them."

"As I said before, there is no need to thank me. And I find myself having more fondness for them."

Will responds by a same affectionate beam.

Hannibal schools his expression. "You talked about your family, what about someone you love? Will you feel jealous because of them?"

_You have no idea._

Will stares and hauls down his eyes.

Only hearing Hannibal has someone he loves, Will is already too jealous that he wants to abandon his principle and kill whoever stole his doctor's heart.

"I—I don't have a lover."

Hannibal shows a slow and implying smile. "No one can meet your standard, or you have no intention to find yourself a partner?"

Will shakes his head for both questions forlornly. He tried to be with a few people he liked many years ago, but all of them ran away after seeing his madness.

"No one would love me," in defeat, he utters his curse that is comparable to the whirling spindle and the withering rose.

"I disagree. You may not be aware, but you are a very attractive man."

Will's heart ceases for that beguiling smile. Hannibal really really needs to stop this.

"Should save the compliment to your crush, doctor," he responds in flat tones.

"Unfortunately, it seems that only a simple praise is not enough to enliven them." Hannibal's eyes swoon with endearment that makes them literally sparkle. "But it is not a compliment, Will, I am merely stating a fact."

God. Why is Hannibal making things harder and harder? If it goes on, he will try to steal his heart back for real. Even if it involves killing someone.

"Aren't we talking about the Chesapeake Ripper?" Will hates himself, and he also hates Hannibal now.

"Of course." Hannibal glances to the half-covered windows then turns back, "What made your assert that the Ripper is jealous? Indeed, Doctor Gideon stole his name, but, be careful, Will, do not confuse anger with jealousy."

"Another Wound Man or any old work is enough to show that he is the real Ripper, but he chose to fuse it with the work of the Copycat to reveal they are the same guy all along. What is more astonishing than that?" Will brings his fingers to cover his lips, but still puffs out a laugh. "He is showing off. Trying to draw attention to himself and himself only. He sees Gideon as a competitor, so he is making a lot of effort to get more attention than his rival. He must be jealous."

Will sneers, expecting the doctor will agree or play devil's advocate as always, but he only gets a moment of silence. He raises his head and catches a blaze that flickers in Hannibal's eyes.

"He got what he wanted, and there are already three victims. Would he stop there?"

"No," Will says without a thought. All of a sudden, the fog that swathes the tortuous mind of the Chesapeake Ripper dissipates, allowing him to see through it clearly. "Without the meddling of Gideon, those two girls would belong to the Copycat forever. Obviously, he doesn't only kill in sounders of three. He kills more than that. In secret. Maybe under the name of another killer, maybe the cases that we thought were one time only. These bodies indicate that he'd already broken his pattern. He doesn't really care about the pattern, even doesn't care about his title. Killing is his art, his play, his entertainment, just for him to amuse himself. He has no need of the offering of three. He kills for passion, he is totally unpredictable."

He massages his glabella, letting his whole body lean to the back of the chair. "I told Jack that provoking him was not going to work, as he would be much more careful...Maybe he is uncatchable like that hooker killer who shared his name."

Hannibal tilts his head with amusement. "Have you considered the possibility that they are the same man?"

Will widens his eyes with a laugh. "What? Like a two-hundred-year-old vampire?"

Hannibal curves up his lips for Will's smile. "Nothing new under the sun."

"You really believe the supernatural stuff."

"There is no major difference between myths and history; both are ancient and forgotten, and both can give us valuable insights and lessons."

"But there's no ill-tempered god in real life."

Hannibal stares at him for a moment with lips tugged up. "Indeed. No ill-tempered god."

 

 

 

  
Hannibal does not need sacrifice. He is not a god arose from religions, worship and offering are not the necessary sustenance to him. He was born in the terror and darkness. As long as the living beings still have their instinct to fear, as long as the night will fall and the sun will cast shadows on earth, he has no reason to worry that he will be starved. These sacrifices, these killings, are merely icing and recreation for him. He has no true need.

But seeing the pig stole and dishonoured his work and attained every attention, Hannibal is in a rage. Even Will's mind focused on that blasphemous pig. That was the last straw. He made a quick kill and exhibited it like the girl in the field, hoping Will can see the connection, wanting Will look at him and only him.

Will sees through him.

For a moment he thought Will was also a deity. Or a demigod, a prophet, mayhap one of those beautiful sirens or nymphs. But his aura shows a bloodline of a mortal.

Just a mortal, but has a striking ability to see through a god.

What a remarkable boy.

Hannibal wanted to take Will right there, to take his body and his soul, to claim him his. But after that, even if he could use the pomegranate seeds from the underworld to trap Will with him for eternity, Will's heart would never belong to him.

Or...he could borrow the golden arrow form Amor and enchant Will to love him blindly, but it is also not what he wants.

He needs to be patient. He disciplines himself for umpteen times. He has to let Will fall in love with him, to make Will give his heart to him willingly.

Will is too shy and stubborn, but Hannibal has unlimited patience and time. Will will fall for him eventually.

Bedelia is glad to see him in pain.

"It's nice to have someone see us, Hannibal. Or have the ability to see us. It requires trust. Trust isn't easy for you. You spend a lot of time building walls, it's natural to want to see if anyone is clever enough to climb over them, "She teases him with no conceal except the wine glass perching on her lip.

She thinks she sees through him, she thinks having a fondness of a serial killer can spare her from his ire, and she can play him like playing with a toothless kittens.

Hannibal smirks and shakes his head, "Will does not need to climb over the walls, I am willing to give my naked heart to him. Only afraid that he is not ready for it yet."

The mortals nowadays believe in science and advocate every eerie thing is just an illusion or a natural phenomenon that can be explained. And Will revealed his same attitude towards the mystical word in their conversations several times. It is not possible for Hannibal to appear in his true form in front of Will, without making the empath believe his brain is sick and fabricating vivid hallucinations to him.

Hannibal sighs for his frustration. Bedelia opens her lips, definitely wants to mock him that any person has normal morals would not accept a cold-blooded cannibal, but seeing him squinting his eyes, she immediately changes her words. "He steps into the killers' minds, he should be used to seeing their insanity. Maybe you can hint him, attune him slowly to your true self."

"That is the plan."

Hannibal smiles, his teeth revealed make Bedelia stiff. Though her expression remains the same, an unmistakable scent of fear radiates from her. Hannibal lets his smirk linger. He has no intention to kill her yet.

Perhaps when he feels this little game is not interesting anymore. Perhaps Will will dine with him.

 

 

 

  
Thin coatings of clouds waft in the cerulean sky, flowers of waves bloom on the smooth sand, what a beautiful day for a dead body appears.

Will follows Jack through the police tape with a complicated feeling. His darkness whirls inside his chest, knowing well that he will face another art of the killer of his dreams.

Using Freddie Lounds to poke the Ripper? How come they would think that was a great idea?

Will squints his eyes darkly, but at the moment Jack steps aside, he cannot mock or even inhale anymore, his heart is wholly drawn to the body before the perpetual waves.

The man there is free of cloth and blood, only covered by meagre foam and sand brought by the saline breezes. His eye sockets are vacant; abdomen is widened and flooded with violet roses, and a redolent bouquet of blood-red flowers occupies the middle of his chest. The man is like resting in his coffin, he lies on a bed of shimmering shells with feet facing the ceaseless sea, as if a god walking above the water.

Ocean. Foam. Shell.

"Just like the The Birth of Venus," Brian says out his thought with contempt. "Don't know which one is more disturbing: the story saying Venus was born from the severed testicles of another god, or this guy here."

Someone sniggers, but Will is not listening at all. He cannot withdraw his stare, and a strange intuition rises in his mind.

The stag breaths to him between the sounds of the roaring waves.

"Not only eyeballs..." Beverly tilts her head, peeking through the carefully lifted petals. The emptiness beneath seems like an abyss that can ingurgitate a person alive. "He also lost his heart."

"Replaced by a bunch of flowers," Jimmy takes a photo and pauses, "Oh, the purple one are lavender roses. Love at first sight. So...what? The Ripper falls in love now?"

They all look at Will for an insight.

Will steps forwards. No need to wait for them to leave him alone, no need to let his pendulum swing. The answer this time is so obvious to see.

_I took his eyes and his heart away, just like what you had done to me._

_You made me blind. You stole my heart._

_I love you from the first moment I saw you._

_You are my love. You are my god of love._

_This is my sacrifice to you._

"This is a courtship." Will inhales deeply to get rid of the bitterness that is echoing with his own. "He does fall in love, but it's only one-sided. This is an unrequited love with no response."

"Of course he won't get a response. There are a bunch of other stuff that can be a wonderful present, but he chose a corpse to woo his love." Brian shakes his head while gesturing at the dead body with exaggerated abhorrence, but Jimmy raise his eyebrows to him, teasing: "Well, if his lover was also a horrible killer..."

The sudden scene of two serial killers courting each other with gruesome murders makes Will's hair bristle.

"Then who is this person?" Jack demands. "Male or female? Another killer? Do they know him?"

Will tries to look deeper. The dead man stares back emptily. The crimson bundle among the purple flowers starts pumping, blood rushes out from it, staining the petals, the shells, and the sand, then comes and swamps his feet. He blinks to shake off the incitement.

"Wh—What is the meaning of the red flowers?"

"Hmm, looks like a type of Dianthus...wait." An unease crawls over Beverly's face. She looks at him in shock and fear as if she is witnessing his death. " _Dianthus barbatus_. Sweet William."

Dead silence.

Will's heart almost leaps.

The Chesapeake Ripper wrote a sweet love letter to him.

Who is he? Someone he knows or just a stalker? When did the Ripper notice him and find him interesting enough that worth his art?

Will swallows hard, his breath shallow, and his heart rate keeps rising. He uses all his efforts to control his face, not letting his excitement exude.

"Will." Jack instantly blocks him from the corpse, like it can help him to block away the attention of the serial killer. He grabs his shoulders tightly. There is trepidation in his eyes. He is thinking about Miriam Lass. Will knows. They still haven't found the body or any body part of her. "Is he going after you?"

"No." _He is pursuing me._ "Sometimes the details aren't important. Why the Wound Man? What was the meaning of using a particular tool to impale that part? These flowers replaced the victim's heart, maybe just because they have a similar colour, or maybe his crush likes them, or maybe 'William' is just his crush's name. But if it is not a coincidence...he's definitely someone related to the FBI. He knows me, knows I'm working for you and I'm trying to catch him. He sees it as a game, wants to see if I have the intelligence to catch him. The flowers are unscathed, he is not trying to harm me. It's not a warning. He'd never done trigger warning."

He utters it all at once. His empathy makes him a great liar. "You should look at the identity of the victim, Jack. His appearance, personality, social status...he must have had at least one thing that reminded the Ripper of his love."

No, wrong, wrong.

That is the Ripper himself.

He is blinded, his heart is stolen. But he is not going to force love from Will.

Will bites the tip of his tongue, angry for himself having no guilt for lying for a serial killer. He turns around, wants to leave everything behind, but his beast overpowers his withering will. He cannot hurt people, but it is not a no-no for him to feel good.

Maybe he can actually reply his admirer—of course, he has his own crush, and he cannot let the Ripper know and kill his doctor, but he needs to response, or the killer will give him a massive amount of offerings. The Ripper is an avid reader of Freddie Lounds, still he hates to see her, besides, it would mean that he had to make an eye-catching corpse.

The Ripper is one of the FBI, or even could be someone close to him, but he cannot name him. There is no way for him to announce that he likes the sacrifice of the Ripper to everyone without getting locked next door to Gideon.

Will falls asleep with his affliction. The calming sound of the waves washed over him; he returns to the beach.

There is no more bothersome crowd or pale body, the view becomes vibrant and glamorous under the shining daylight. He bares his feet to feel the warm and smooth sand. His pack accompany him, running and chasing in the wind and the sunlight. Had no such merriment for a long time, Will grins at the scene.

It conjures up a few fragments of his childhood: once he and his father resided in a small cabin near the sea; he ran through the whole beach, picking up the shells, piling up the sand, and kicking the water back to the sea; and one night his father lying on the sand with him, pointing to the summer constellations and relating the ancient stories in his ears. Now sometimes he will also go outside at night and leaves a light on in his house, his lighthouse always sends him back to the distant memories of stars and seas.

A dog barks.

Will ceases his reminiscence immediately. He searches in disorientation, but there are only scattered paw prints on the quiet beach; the pack are already gone, leaving him and Winston behind. And the mutt stands in the junction of sand and waves, facing the horizon, he alerts again.

Will looks at there promptly, and the dog disappears at the corner of his eye. Though he cannot draw back his attention to find him now—the gorgeous stag rises from the glittering sea, it steps on the hilly waves, coming forwards in a slow agile gait. The creature halts before him and shakes its body, letting its inky feathers glint under the sprinkle of water.

Will greets the animal with a beam and reaches out, like welcoming a long-lost friend. The stag puffs as if chuckling, letting its nose nuzzle Will's palm. When it recedes, a strangely hot and soaked object lands on Will's hand.

Will grabs it by reflex. It is a bundle of flowers.

The boutique of scarlet flowers is heavy and damp and pumping against his palm. The dark and syrupy nectar surges out of it, deluges his hand and falls down from the gaps between his fingers, painting all over his feet and the sea.

Will chortles. He looks up to the stag gratefully, and he sees his Wendigo in its eyes.

"Thank you."

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
"The Chesapeake Ripper murdered in sounders of three," Will mutters under the gory photos projected on the screen. His monotonic descriptions invoke the spirits of the victims one by one. He does not look over his shoulder. He does not dare to look. Because he can dive into the Ripper's mind by merely looking at these frozen moments and lost his ability to step back.

Even his words sound like an approbation to the serial killer. "...The removal of organs and abdominal mutilations means someone with anatomical or surgical know-how. There is a distinctive brutality."

He flips to another side. "An FBI trainee named Miriam Lass was investigating private medical records of all the known victims when she disappeared. She is believed to be the Ripper's ninth. The killing of three was completed. The Ripper was satisfied, and he hibernated for two years after that. At least, it was what he wanted everyone to believe."

Those two antler girls hover above his head.

"Cassie Boyle and Marissa Schurr. They were the works of the Copycat killer of Garret Jacob Hobbs. And, this was the response from the Ripper to Abel Gideon who had replicated his eighth work. Do you see the relations?"

A few hands rise with uncertainty, but getting no acknowledgement from Will's gaze that keeps staring at the emptiness of the room and the Wendigo in his mind. "This girl...had the similar appearance like Abigail Hobbs and the other girls of the Shrike. A prey of Garret Jacob Hobbs was used to paint a picture of the Wound Man. It is not an admirer of these killers. It is the Ripper himself. The Chesapeake Ripper is the Copycat of Garret Jacob Hobbs. There is a very high probability that he has killed under other names. The number of his victims may way exceed our estimated one."

Thousands of withered bones lie before him, a myriad of scarlet flowers bloom in the culture of human flesh. The ethereal creature steps through the entrance with its crown of antlers painted with peeling and dribbling blood. Will shifts for the discomfiting and enthralling sight, but after he blinks and focuses on there again, what comes to visit him secretly is only Hannibal.

Will's thought settles down for the soothing presence of Hannibal. He makes a deep intake of breath and resumes his lecture. The sea floats above him.

"This is the latest work of the Ripper, his thirteen prey on the record. An unlucky number, yet he chose this time to write a love letter. To someone understands him, or someone kills like him." He pauses and sighs. "His plan is still inscrutable, especially considering he had already broken his pattern. A beast with no leash. There will be blood everywhere."

He dismisses his students with an assignment, then walks behind the table to gather up his books and papers. Hannibal ambles towards Will as he pays no regard to those curious glances landed on him. He seems to be in a great mood, the corners of his lips that are usually composed are now curled up, and the air around him is brimming with relish.

Will's smile surfaces for the contagious joy. Yet he scowls at the next second. "Doctor Lecter? Why are you here? Jack asked you to investigate something?" Though it cannot explain his gleeful expression at all.

"I came here on my own will." Hannibal stops beside Will and takes out the food containers form his bag under Will's quizzical look. "I unintentionally made lunch for two. I would like to share it with you."

"You _unintentionally_ made lunch for two." Will takes off his glasses and crosses his arms, raising his eyebrows wryly. "Why do I feel like it is your date stood you up so you want to invite me for lunch as a Plan B?" Who dares to jilt the doctor? Can Hannibal just forget about that ungrateful and rude pig?

"Will, please do not be ridiculous. You are never a substitute." Hannibal places down the food and utensils, then he glimpse at Will's laptop. "These are the Ripper's cases? Would you indulge my curiosity?"

Will nods, he is going to leave the place for the doctor, however Hannibal already steps forwards and crowds him there. Hannibal's chest almost presses to his back, and the warmth radiated through the thin air between them and toasts his skin without mercy. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

"I can see why you have bad dreams."

The breath carrying a fond titter tickles the back of his ear, sending him into shudder and freeze. He even dares not to breathe now, just praying hopelessly that Hannibal will not scent his fright of fearing he might lose his control and turn around to kiss the man.

"Wh—what do you see, Doctor?" He calls, hoping the formal title can remind himself their uncrossable boundary, also wanting to use the case to diverge his attention. This is the first time he is so desperately wants to let a murder occupy his brain.

Hannibal hums against his nape. "Sum up the Ripper in so many words?"

Will tries hard to concentrate. "Choose your words wisely."

"I always do. Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda." Hannibal looks through the photos conscientiously as he used to check the medical histories and test results of his patients. "Displaying one's enemy after death has its appeal in many cultures."

"These aren't the Ripper's enemies. These are pests he's swatted," Will says in flat and even disdaining tones.

"The reward for their cruelty?"

Will cannot hold his sneer. "He's not bothered by cruelty. The reward is for undignified behavior. These dissections are to disgrace them. It's a public shaming."

Hannibal sizes up the abdomen of Cassie Boyle that punctured by the antlers. "Takes their organs away because in his mind they don't deserve them?"

Will goes pensive for a moment. He believes the entrails are not merely trophies, but he has not figured out the true intention behind the removal yet. Hannibal's suggestion seems reasonable. "Hmm. In some way." The Chesapeake Ripper sees people as pigs. He does not think they deserve to be a human, or even deserve to have the parts of a human. But, where would he deposit the organs after he harvested them?

"Who is this?" Hannibal flicks the slides back to Miriam Lass's profile picture. "Only one picture of her. Is her body has not been found yet?"

"Jack's trainee. Disappeared during investigation." He had never met Miriam before. But if he was helping Jack at that time, would he be able to catch the Ripper? "She's the only one vanished, or, isn't displayed. She's not like his other victims. She found him. She's the only one who can find him. Maybe a very subtle thing he had never cared about, or a rare mistake. Anyway, he makes sure that no one can find him in the same way again."

The images switch to the cases of the Copycat, but Hannibal already heard Will talked about them, he has more interest in the body on the beach. "You said this is for another killer." Tilting his head, Hannibal studies it carefully as his hands leave the keyboard. Well, they are going to discuss it for the whole lunchtime.

"I thought the Ripper was a lone wolf," Hannibal says.

"Not anymore." Will stares at the love god above the sea. "He wants a companion. Someone that can understand him." Someone like him.

He hears Hannibal's breath catch, but it also sounds like a sniff. Though his attention follows the doctor's gesture immediately to the pumping heart.

"Dianthus barbatus. These flowers have the same name as yours. Sweet William." Hannibal finally steps aside, searching for Will's eyes. His voice is so light that as if afraid it can be heard by the serial killer skulking in the shadows. "Will, are you in danger?"

Will shakes his head and uses the same words he applied on Jack to prevaricate, but they do not have the same power to brush away Hannibal's apprehension. "What if he was asking his recipient to kill you?"

"If he wanted to kill me, he could come and try. No reason for him to ask someone to kill me. Doesn't make sense." Will shrugs.

Hannibal observes him with his head tilted. "You do not have a slight concern."

"Why should I? This is a love letter for me," Will says in half-joking tones as he closes the lip of his laptop, not being aware of the piercing gaze on the back of his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
Before the Wendigo or the stag can visit him, Will needs to drag himself out of his bed for Jack's foray.   
  
Ripper, Ripper, Jack chants the name with an obsessive tenacity while clutching the steering wheel with unnecessary strength, as if it is the windpipe of the Ripper. Will stays quiet not to disrupt the spell, despite he can tell it is not the same killer from the location alone. Come on. Exhibiting his art in a filthy hotel bathroom? Where is his taste? Where is his pretentiousness?

Will uses all of his strength to bite back his laughter when Jack claims this is the second last chance to catch the Ripper before he accomplishes another slaughter of three. Will has no comprehension of why he is so blind to something right in front of his nose.

Caveman. He associates. Empty-headed and intransigent that only knows how to stare at the illusory shadows on the wall and is not willing to believe the truth he heard.

People are too obtuse, too gullible, and sometimes they are too adamant to a wrong belief. It is difficult to treat them without contempt, to treat them equal. Like the Ripper sees them as pigs. No need to show the pigs any respect or sympathy. He is on top of the food chain.

The Wendigo convulses with laughter.

A series of taps on the window wakes Will. He shakes his head and leaves the car. He passes through the crowd of cars and officers, hiding his eyes behind the reflected light on the glasses and scuffing his feet while following Jack to the end of the corridor.

Brian, Jimmy, and Beverly are mustering in the far corner of the room, apparently no one listened to Jack's order not to probe the body yet. Their insubordination to Jack makes Will tug up the corners of his lips discreetly.

They report the vanished kidney and the smashed heart before Jack waves his arm to repel them with displeasure. Though Will does not mind they touched the body. The imprints on the body that left by different people are all distinctive strokes of colours and paints to him. He has no trouble separating and excluding them. Still he appreciates that he can be alone now. He cannot guarantee that his instinct will not do anything for being disrupted when he is walking in the border between fantasy and reality, or the killer and his self. Killing an innocent bird, constructing the sweet and heinous dreams, his subconscious is an untamable monster.

Will breathes out slowly and takes off his glasses. His heartbeats sounds like the ancient and divine drumbeats pulsating in the darkness, reviving the dead.

The man shoves him to the wall and stumbles towards the bathroom while tearing off the sutures on his body, as if there is something inside him trying to crawl out but he cannot stop it, he can only try to dig it out quickly. But before he can reopen the wound, he quivers suddenly, then falls backwards into the bathtub and loses all the movements like a doll.

The fear is transmitted to Will, making him kneel down in front of the tub and touch the man's neck with tremble. A cold light flashes into his view, he looks down and uses the blade found in his hand to cut open the chest wall decisively, creating a hole for him to reach inside and hold the ceased heart. He glances up to see any effect—"See?"—the clinging jeer stabs him.

Will gasps, but his arm is clutched by the freezing cavity of the corpse. Garret Jacob Hobbs laughs as he stares at Will emptily, the blood flushes out from the cutting and the gun wounds, brims the bathtub and rushes out to cover his feet.

"Ja—Jack!"

Will does not even know this call comes from his mouth. The door is wide opened immediately, bursting the ghost away. Will fumbles and wears his glasses back, but it has no help to soothe his trembling hands which he can only stuff into his pockets.

"There is no brutality." He walks back towards the door, eyes roaming on the pattern of the wall while avoiding the body completely. "This killer was not trying to kill him. He was trying to save him. Have the Ripper even done that?"

But Brian is not convinced. "It's the Chesapeake Ripper."

"It's not the Chesapeake Ripper."

"There are too many similarities." Brian gestures towards the body as if Will cannot find and see it. "Knife wounds are cuts, not stabs. Anatomical knowledge, dissecting skills. Mutilation, organ removal. Victim's clothes, on display...22 signature components all attributable to the same killer."

No. No. No. All wrong.

Will closes the door to end the meaningless argument. He is not the one who does not listen here.

Though Brian is not the only person questions it. As he turns back, Jack is staring at him sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

And after that even his doctor says the same words to Will, but his eyes crinkle with amusement as he quotes the lines from the report of Freddie Lounds, clearly not believing any single word.

Will's frustration dissipates instantly; his unsettled heart can always calm down for the presence of the doctor. Maybe because of the absence of judgement or pity in the doctor's gaze, or just because of his firm but comforting demeanour, Hannibal only needs to sit here and look at him as usual, is already enough to anchor him.

His paddle. His anchor. His constant.

"Will?" Hannibal suddenly calls, and he cocks his head and shifts forwards to search for a reaction.

Then Will realizes he has been gazing at the doctor behind his wine glass for a very long period of time. He quickly averts his eyes and puts down the rosé wine, clearing his throat. "Sorry...It's not the same guy."

Hannibal scrutinizes his face closely to see if he was distracted due to an underlying problem. And finding nothing concerning, he replies: "Maybe it has never been the same guy."

"So he has a friend now?" Will scoffs. The Ripper wants to be with him, but he has not agreed yet.

"You said the Ripper confessed his love to someone through the Birth of Venus." Hannibal sips the wine, the corners of his lips seem to curve up with delight. "Will it be a respond to him?"

"In a cheap hotel room, with a broken heart?" Will quirks his eyebrows and glimpses at the remaining liquid in Hannibal's glass, suspecting if the alcohol is muddling the older man's mind.

"Perhaps someone is jealous." Hannibal leans forwards and whispers with a smirk, eliciting a laugh from Will.

"Nah. This is just a medical student or a trainee. Trying to make an extra buck on a back-alley surgery and it went bad."

"However there is a question." Hannibal raises an index finger above his crossed legs. "Who would trust the inexperienced hands instead of a real doctor with their life? Is this victim had an unspeakable identity?"

Will blinks for this point that he had not considered. "I guess he was just an ordinary person..." He stiff for the realization. "He didn't consent to this."

The shock. The struggling. The fear of the unexpected sutures on his body...Why didn't he see it? Why didn't he step into the perspective of the victim and only focused on the killer's mind?

_Because they are far more interesting._

Will bites his lower lip to get rid of the Wendigo, almost making it stained with pain and copper.

"But—but the killer has no intention to kill."

"He took his kidney." Hannibal reminds him, amusement radiating from his tones. "The Ripper also collects entrails from his victims. Valuable organs."

"Organ harvesters?"

"Jack Crawford is looking for a serial killer he cannot seem to catch."

Will hums hesitantly.

This mediocre killer, he is definitely going to help Jack to catch him. But as for the Chesapeake Ripper...When a hound is fond of something he is supposed to hunt down, will he still be able to show his teeth and bite?

Will breathes out his exasperation. He raises up the glass and gulps down all the wine out of habit, drawing the gaze of Hannibal. He ducks his head, expecting the doctor will lecture him on the importance of savouring slowly, or even decide he will not provide him alcohol anymore, but Hannibal just walks towards him, holding out a hand as if inviting Will to dance with him, "One more?"

"Ah, no, thanks." Will stands up reflexively without considering that Hannibal is standing only half a foot before him, making himself almost crash on Hannibal's chest. He steps backwards instantly, but the chair blocks his way. His breath catches and eyes escape to the Windsor knot. "I—I have enough wine now. Still need to drive back."

"And you will indulge yourself in many glasses of cheap whiskey after you went back home," Hannibal says with concern. He reaches to tug the chocolate curls behind Will's ear. "You should take better care of yourself, Will."

The intimacy behind the act throws Will into an acute embarrassment. "You care all of your patients that much?" Why? Why care about him and treat him gently? He really really cannot let go of this still-growing feeling towards the doctor. Stop it. Stop all the tenderness that will only beguile him deeper, that he does not deserve.

"You are not my patient."

"Then you care all of your friends that much?"

"I do not see you as a friend."

The unanticipated statement makes Will jerk up his head abruptly. Hannibal's eyes are not composed anymore. There are ripples on there, like waves created by a fish inhabiting there that resurfaces for a breath of air, like a fierce feeling that can no longer be repressed.

Will is breathless. His world spins.

"Whom...whom are you pursuing?"

"I believe you already know."

Perhaps it is the alcohol, perhaps it is the little distance making their breath condense together, or just because of the fervent gaze on him from the man he loves, Will finds himself drawn forwards. No need to take a step, his lips touch Hannibal's, the electrified brush makes him shudder, like a wild flame makes him want to recoil. But before he can move, before he can afraid he had ruined everything between them, Hannibal's arms come to pull him nearer, caging him in a loving embrace. Hannibal licks and nibbles his lips like savouring a fine wine, collected and gentle.

The series of sparks from their brushing lips, the damp and hot breath, and the hands caressing his hair and his back...everything makes Will disorientated and brings him a dizzy feeling that he will melt in Hannibal's arms soon.

It is too good to be true.

It must be a vivid dream.

He is about to wake up on his bed, in his empty house, and find out that the man kissing him now is just a part of his reverie. Of course it is just his dream, how come the doctor will ever like him...

"Will."

The husky call flutters to his knitted eyebrows, coxing him along with the hands cupping his cheeks. "Look at me."

"I can't." Will keeps his eyes closed and grabs Hannibal's vest harder. "You will be gone. I don't want you leave me alone."

"We are not in your dream." Hannibal chuckles with adoration, thumbs soothing his cheekbones. "Remember what I said? When you are lost, look at me, I will help you to settle in the real world."

Will nods tentatively and takes a deep breath, slowly opens his eyes like a newborn bird that had never seen the sunshine before. Hannibal is right there, gazing at him with bare love, then he leans and kisses him. "Does it feel like a dream?"

Will does not even have the courage to blink. It feels like a slightly deeper breath is enough to burst this moment that is more delicate than a hatching butterfly. He mutters almost soundlessly, "It's like it would only happen in my dream..."

"I have the same feeling." Hannibal smiles to his surprised gaze. "I wanted to kiss you and confess my love to you at the first time you looked me in the eye."

Will recalls those careful approaches and whispers and touches, those he thought were illusions but it is actually Hannibal courting him... "I'm such an idiot."

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. Will shakes his head, a twinge of worry entwined him again. What should he do now? Should they be together...

He pushes Hannibal's chest gently. "I need to think. We—we can't...I'm not stable, I'm not suitable to have any relationship. The people once with me...they all ran away after seeing my heart. You will too."

"I will not, Will. I can swear." Hannibal holds his hands. "You will never scare me off."

"Don't...don't make a promise that you will break. You don't know. You haven't see my true self." His wicked desire. His monstrous fantasy. The darkness that is about to be unleashed. How would Hannibal still accept and love him after witnessing him covered with blood and stepping on piles of dead?

"Will."

"No. Look, you're a well-respected doctor, belongs to the upper class, and looks and acts exactly like a modern aristocrat. You're a perfect partner. And me? I only know how to take care of the strays, fix the boats, do the dirty labours. Anyone you meet is much better than me. I don't deserve—"

"Will." Hannibal is much firmer this time. He holds Will's cheeks again and lifts up his head. "I am flattered that you hold me in such a high regard. But please do not belittle yourself because of me. You have the most breathtaking appearance, lovely heart, and a beautiful mind. No one can be comparable to you." He pauses to permit a bittersweet smile. "My heart is already yours, Will. I want us to be together. Don't you?"

Will cannot speak. All of his refusals, all of his excuses, now all vanish in Hannibal's plea. "I want that too."

Hannibal cracks a smile. "Every couple will encounter countless problems, getting married, having pets or children, or other daily issues. However, they can face it together. The most important things to a relationship are communication, trust, and honesty. Please do not be afraid of the future. Give me a chance, Will, give us a chance."

This is impossible to say no. Will's heart is yearning for love and for Hannibal. He nods.

Just a simple act, just a silent consent, is enough to light up Hannibal's face. His eyes sparkle with glee, gazing at Will like he is his greatest gift. If he was not such a well-mannered man, he would already carry Will up in the bridal style and dance around the room.

"I will give you everything you want, Will Graham." Hannibal caresses his hair, making a sacred vow on his lips. "Stars and galaxies, Ambrosia and Nectar, the Golden Apple and the Golden Fleece. Anything you want. Just to make you happy. I can give the whole world to you."

 

 

 

  
Will curves up his lips then immediately frowns, this is the fifth time he do that to his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

They have not met for three days. No call. No text.

Hannibal is giving him space to envisage the new step of their relationship, but this distancing is exactly the source of his anxiety.

What if Hannibal changes his mind, thinks that the kisses that night were just an act of impulse, thinks that Will actually does not worth his time? What if he cannot control his nervousness and social phobia, does some rude things, and lets Hannibal disappointed?

Enough.

Will shakes his head.

_You know, Will, you worry too much._

He recites the doctor's words to remind himself.

_You would be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself._

Still it is easy to say.

They are not going to meet at Hannibal's office tonight. Hannibal wants to take him to a restaurant. Though he emphasized it is only a dinner, Will feels like it is a date. How should he dress, how should he say hi, how should he smile...he has no idea. The worst scenario of the night keeps playing in his brain.

Realizing he is tenses as a stone again, Will breathes deeply, focusing back on titivating. He straightens his blazer, and combs his unruly hair again, and the sudden dog barks make him jump.

Must be Hannibal.

Will stumbles down the stairs and passes through the pack growling at the car light, he shushes them and allows himself to subdue his tizzy before opening the door. Hannibal just gets out of his car, wearing an immaculate black suit with a red tie and vest, arms carrying a bundle of scarlet flowers.

Will's heart is clutched for the sight. He blurts out, "You said it isn't a date."

Hannibal replies with a simper that reddens his ear more, "I just saw them when passing by. They reminded me of you, Will."

The bouquet to him looks like an offering. The hue of _Dianthus barbatus_ is exactly the same as the flowers the Ripper planted in his victim's chest. Will can see it beating.

He blinks to expel the shudder instantly, taking the flowers into his arms while muttering a thanks. He walks back into the house for a vase, and Hannibal waits for him before the door, like an old-fashioned monster that needs permission to enter the room. He lets out a laugh, earning raised eyebrows from the older man. Too awkward to say his dippy thought out loud, Will presses his lips to muffle his sound, quickly passes through the pack again and returns to the side of Hannibal. And not surprisingly, this treading brushes the dog fur all over his dress pants.

With a sigh, he bends down pat the clothing, then squints his eyes to pick away the hairs under the lamp of the pouch. Hannibal grabs his wrist and speaks in a soft voice, "You are perfect, Will."

Will smiles embarrassingly as he realizes his act is much more indecorous than the animal hairs. Hannibal pecks the back of his hand, urges him to get into the car by a small tug.

When they arrive, Will's nervousness strikes back as a storm. That is an Italian restaurant with extravagant design and decorations, and his attire will definitely get him kicked out. No vest, no tie, and covered with dog hairs...

Will is stiff as he follows Hannibal and creeps inside under the watchful eyes of the receptionist, then he faces a menu with solely foreign language swimming before his eyes messily and rising his anxiety more. He has no choice but to order the same dishes Hannibal chose, trusting the older man's palate. He can only breathe properly after the waiter is satisfied and leaves them alone.

He sighs in his heart and glances up to the doctor secretly, feeling a much stronger difference between them. This is the world of Hannibal. Nobel, glorious, sublime. There is nothing like him...

"Will?"

Will raise up his head to stop staring at the table blankly. He wants to say it is nothing, but—the most important things are communication, trust, and honesty—he reminds himself.

"I...This place is just too good. I feel like I don't belong here."

His dry laugh makes Hannibal regards him seriously. "I admit choosing this place is to show off to you. I am by no means trying to upset you. If you would like to leave, we could leave."

"No, don't," Will grabs Hannibal's hand immediately, then draws back at the same speed as the touch lights his palm. "It—it's rude to leave right after sitting down. And, and I need to step out of my comfort zone now." He glances the man skeptically, "I guess you would like to take me to gallery or opera."

"Indeed," Hannibal reaches out, being the one who initiates the contact this time. Will chuckles as Hannibal strokes his knuckles, thinking if the older man really intends to bring him to an opera house after the dinner, but Hannibal says: "I am planning to hold a dinner party. Tomorrow night. I would like to invite you. There will be only my acquaintances. And they won't bite."

Will gives a timorous chuckle. "I..." Any invitation to any social meeting comes to Will will only face the same fate of ignorance or direct refusal, but Will finds it is hard to say no when Hannibal is looking at him with his half-lidded eyes. He stares at the table again, "I...prefer having dinner with you only. Besides, the Ripper is keep writing his love letters." he suppresses his emerging grin hardly. "You already saw that on the web. Many bodies and many bodies are coming. It's very likely that Jack will find me midway through the dinner...Sorry." He scratches his scruff.

"Don't worry, Will. I know it is an abrupt invitation." Hannibal assures Will with a smile. He pauses, then his tone shifts for his inquisitiveness about the cases they had not discussed for a while. "There are two active killers at this moment. Is the Ripper responsible to all the killings these few days? After all, what I heard is that not all the bodies are decorated with romantic flowers..."

Right, only three. Three corpses adorned with red roses, constituting half of the bodies appeared this week.

Will the Ripper kill everyone in the town just for getting a smile from him?

Will wonders when the killer will contact him directly.

"...or, will it be the organ harvester pretending to be the Ripper?"

Will squeezes out a scowl to disguise his excitement. "With or without flowers, they all have something in common. The blood vessels important for reconnect were all cut out. The same way the Ripper did to his victims before. I'm sure at least one of them is the Ripper."

"Then, the Ripper is indeed selling the organs?"

"No. He is eating them."

Silence.

The piano piece stops too.

Oh, damn. Why did he say that? "Sorry, I shouldn't talk about this at dinner time. Ha, I must...must just made you lose your appetite."

"I asked you the question. You are merely answering me," Hannibal squeezes his hand as a comfort. "And I used to be a surgeon. Nothing abhorrent I had not seen before. Though, what gave it away?"

Will waits after the waiter brings up their dishes. As in their first breakfast together, his attention has no modest interest in the food. "He sees himself as an apex predator. And he treats them as pigs. Sometime you just eat the weak. Law of the jungle." He gives a sneer, and Hannibal returns one in the flickering shadows cast by the candle lights.

 

 

 

  
As they leave the restaurant, Hannibal is putting his palm on Will's shoulder blade, the act is intimate, but nothing beyond chastity. They stop before the Bentley, Will turns around, letting Hannibal's hand caress pass his back and land on his arm. This series of touches tempts him forwards, lures his lips to the corner of Hannibal's mouth.

"Thank you, Hannibal. I have a great night." He chuckles while hiding his face on the older man's neck. He feels lightheaded even though he did not touch the glass much. The man is simply inebriating to him.

"I should be the one says that. Thank you, Will."

A kiss touches the tip of his ear, a content sigh skims over his curls, and the arms come and surround him gently. He smiles giddily against Hannibal's shoulder, inhaling the fragrance of the cologne that is tempting his eyelids to drop soon. But this ravishing moment does not last long; a sudden vibration from his pocket startles both of them into a brief stiff. He grumbles as he takes out his phone. Jack.

Well, technically Jack is their matchmaker. He is not going to be mad at him this time.

"Jack?"

"We have a lead on the Ripper."

Will's heart sinks. No, it should be a good news, he should be happy that they can eventually catch this notorious killer. Still the eagerness in his voice is forced out from his throat. "I'll be right there."

Hannibal gazes at him with concern. He is easier to smile now.

"Jack asked me to catch the Ripper."

"You have a definite lead?" Hannibal sounds worry. Should be worrying Will might face a danger when chasing the killer.

Will pats the doctor's arm. "He sounded very certain. I won't get myself hurt. Don't worry."

Hannibal nods, then, "Let me drive you there."

"What? No, no need, Hannibal, I can get a taxi."

"I insist." Hannibal steps forwards to open the door, gesturing for Will to get into the car. "It is inexcusably rude not to drive your date back home."

"O—okay," Will says grudgingly, and he gives the address of the ambulance garage to Hannibal.

Though they find an empty parking lot there. Beverly instantly comes up with the method of using a DF sweep to locate the missing ambulance, letting Jack to bring all the shields and guns to enclose the car.

As the drama goes on, Will is more and more sure that who ever inside the car must not be the killer known for his meticulousness. He loses his interest straight away. He stays behind while pondering if he should ask Hannibal to stay after he brings him back to Wolf Trap, and letting the doctor deign to sleep on his couch again seems inappropriate...

"Doctor Lecter!"

The urgent call from Jack forces them forwards.

Hannibal gets inside, and after he determines and stabilizes the situation without hesitation, Jack demands the man to get out of the car. Seeing that trembling man who cannot even finish a removal of a kidney being treated like a fearsome monster, Will is about to snort.

He remains on the same spot with indifference, watching Jack and the others agents step into the darkness before the ambulance, he retrieves his glance back. Hannibal is still caring the unconscious victim, whole-heartedly pulling back the life from the cold grip of death.

A stable and strong arm like that can retain a perishing life, can also crush a thriving being. Bathed in blood, stifling the breath and pulse, squashing out the lovely choking sound...

A stiffness rises from his lower stomach perturbs him. He thwarts his staring on there promptly, and Hannibal glances up at the same time, the maroon eyes strikes him in midair.

His heart shudders.

Just like capturing a transient illusion of light, Will sees through them, catches the thing behind them. The darkness. The antlered beast.

Everything makes sense now.

 _Dianthus barbatus_ , the offal feasts, the delicate gifts.

This man, this man who just hugged him, kissed him, and pledged that he would give the whole world to him, is the same man he admires, the cannibalistic killer who courts him with those presents of corpses.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
Will stares at the wine bottle in his hands that are twitching a bit for his tiredness. Last night he was sleepless, his brain could not stop thinking about Hannibal and the Ripper and their probable consequences.

He should tell Jack, even though he only has his brain and his crazy mind as evidence, he could at least alert Jack and the FBI to have vigilance of Hannibal, but he does not even have a slight will to spill a word.

He loves this man. He loves this morbidity.

The beast living in his heart desires to reveal itself to Hannibal, to be with Hannibal. After all, that is exactly what the man wants; telling him the sadistic similarity between men and gods, whispering the powerfulness and beauty of killing, tempting him astray, Hannibal just wants to help him break out of his cocoon. Then why don't him just grant their mutual wishes?

The terrible feeling swirls in his cheat, his stomach churns, but not because of his proximity to the charms, nor the delicious flesh and bones buried in his belly without his consent, it is just because of his insouciance to his corrupting.

He is really sick.

He should find a psychiatrist that can actually help him.

But he cannot even be honest with Alana, a friend that he knows for years, then how much trust would he have towards a person that solely wants to pry open his skull and study how he work?

Hannibal is the only one he trusts.

Will grumbled defeatedly.

He finally drifted into sleep when the sun rose, having a blurred dream of him lying on the bed, and the stag arrived with its faint hoofbeats. The creature approached his bedside and breathed to his ear, as if muttering something soft, though before he could figure it out, he already sank into the deepest part of his mind.

He woke up after noon. He stumbled with his stomachache into the kitchen to forage for a makeshift lunch. He searched his fridge and found a tupperware box left by Hannibal a few days ago which he had not opened yet. Hannibal fills the fridge with all the dishes every time he visits here, but they are too much that Will often needs to share with his dogs before they get spoiled. He sighed for feeling himself being treated almost like a force-feed duck while peeping the grilled meat inside the container, wondering would he get a positive result if he took it to the lab for a human meat test. Really, or why would Hannibal slaughter so many pigs if he was not planning to cook them?

Wait. The dinner party.

Oh.

Oh.

That was why Hannibal killed many pigs recently. Not for messing them up. He was preparing dishes for his guests.

Laugh burst out from his throat and almost choked him.

He heated up the food and ate it anyway. It tasted as good as always.

He drove into the city later to buy a red wine, and he continued wearing these shabby clothes with dirt and dog hairs to Hannibal's mansion. Otherwise, Hannibal will interpret him showing up with a nice attire as a last-minute decision that he changed his mind and accepted the invitation, and the doctor will introduce him as the guest of honour, and he will laugh non-stop for every horrible cannibalistic pun Hannibal makes.

Will sighs, weighting the wine bottle when he steps into the shadows ruling the unlit porch. He rings the doorbell.

Plunge into the beast's cave.

He muses on the notion for a moment, the door opens, revealing the warm light and aroma inside; the senses that he has already associated with calm and safety.

"Will," Hannibal mouths his name with unbelief and glee. "Didn't expect you would come. Please, come in. I will add a seat for you."

The last word like a piece of chocolate melts on Will's lips. He closes his eyes for the sweetness, and the sharp teeth of the cannibal graze his beam, making his breath hitch.

"Don't. I'm just dropping by. I'll go back soon." Will scratches his scruff. "Hmm, this is for you." He presents the wine to the older man, fantasizing it is a fresh trophy from a hunting trip.

Hannibal glimpse at the label and hums, looking pleased. Of course he will love any gift from Will. He kisses Will again in return, palm placing on the Will's back to hasten him into the house.

There are already soft chats in the living room, even though Will picks an earlier time to visit here. He peeps inside inadvertently, glance lands on a short-haired woman among the few guests there. The distinctive cherry colour on her attracts his attention for a brief second longer. It seems that causes her notice him, a curious gaze meets his eyes, he instinctively turns away his head, but he just manages to take a few steps more, a raised voice appears behind them.

"Hannibal! Smuggling something?"

"Mrs. Komeda." Hannibal turns and regards the tease with neutral tones, though his arm curves around Will's waist immediately, as if the woman can create a black hole to suck Will away from him. Will would laugh for this possessiveness if he was not being examined by that probing gaze on him.

The simple greeting is obviously not enough to satisfy the woman who looks at Will keenly like a hungry fox interested in a bird. "And who is this beautiful creature in your arms?"

Will can hear Hannibal inhales a breath for allaying the reluctance to reveal his name. "This is Will Graham."

"Oh! You are the Will that Hannibal talked about." Mrs. Komeda exclaims with great delight, and she sizes him up more closely while placing a hand on his arm.

It makes Will tense up and horripilate all of a sudden. Not because it is an unannounced touch from a total stranger. There is something else. Something off. Like he is prey to her. He cannot explain why.

He brushes off the edginess, trying to be as decorous as possible. Even if she is also a killer, he still needs to play nice in Hannibal's house.

_Rule number one: be polite or be eaten._

He blinks and smiles bashfully, eyes cast down to the woman's chin, the crimson looks like a smear of blood staining her lips. "Hannibal mentioned about me?"

"Oh, dear, he keeps talking about you."

"Hmm, I hope it's not something bad." Will gives a playful side-eye to Hannibal.

"Of course." Hannibal leans closer to him, lips brushing his curls. "I can only find merits on you."

Will chuckles and shifts his weight between his feet, does not used to being fussed over at all. Mrs. Komeda asks again, "Will you join us tonight, Will? It's been a long time since Hannibal held a dinner party."

Yes. Two years. He knows.

"I am afraid Will is occupied by his work," Hannibal answers it for him. "And he needs to leave soon. May I have him back?"

Will lets out a laugh as Hannibal drags him towards the kitchen.

"I must apologize," Hannibal whispers once they are out of earshot. "Most of my acquaintances have a proclivity of gossiping."

"Including you." Will glances at him with a wry smirk. "Keep talking about me, huh?"

"You dominate my heart." Hannibal sighs sentimentally and pecks him on his cheek.

Will grins, but his smile wanes a bit for the busying sight in the kitchen. The clicking and fizzing sound can already be heard in the hallway, Will is still wide-eyed. "I thought you would do everything by yourself."

"Unfortunately, I only have a pair of hands. Perhaps I could borrow yours?"

Will twists his lips for the association of human remains, though the cannibal does not mean that right now. "I'd mess up all the things. You wouldn't like to see me in your kitchen."

"I beg to differ. The delicate lures displayed in your house manifest that you have adroit hands. Cooking should not be a problem to you." Hannibal goes behind the island and places down the wine. There are raw hearts lying on the chopping board.

Presenting human flesh to an observant profiler, and even occasionally inviting the Head of Behavioral Sciences to dinner...Will wonders if there is anything in this world can daunt this serial killer.

"Will, are you sure you cannot stay?"

"Nah." Will shrugs and looks at Hannibal with feigned innocence. "I've got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper."

Amusement flash in Hannibal's eyes, but he pauses to sham a blank look. "Should I be jealous?"

_Envy yourself?_

Will bites his inner cheeks, but he can hold back no laugh. He coughs to continues. "Devon Silvestri was harvesting organs but not with the Chesapeake Ripper. No connection between them."

Hannibal nods and rises the wine glass placed before the chopping board and the steel bowls. "Good luck, Will. The Ripper is the key to free yourself from the rule of Jack Crawford."

Will is suddenly eager to know if a single word from him has the ability to compel Hannibal to turn himself in, to make this beast step into the eternal cage willingly. However something more interesting comes up in his mind. "I know I can use a narrow bone instead of my finger to trick Jack. Once he believes I will stay skinny no matter how much he feeds me, he will give up his plan of eating me."

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. There is a clear attempt to maintain his calm attitude on his face, but his voice quavers with a muted chuckle. "You are not a child that lost in the woods and tempted inside the cave of a beast for the candies. You are his hound, good at catching preys. Jack will never cook and eat you like a pig."

Will wants to retort that Hannibal is the one who want to train him as a hound and eat him alive, but he better stop there. "I also don't think Jack will kill a golden goose like me. So, even if I caught the Ripper, he would still force me to catch other killers. And there are hundred thousands of bad guys in this world."

Hannibal nods, he responds with supercilious tones, "The reptilian brain is the center of human's soul. Ironically, the rationality we are proud of is based on the primeval and brutal instincts. Violence is the legacy from our animal ancestors, buried deeply inside our minds, and impossible to be erased completely."

Will hums with agreement, pondering if his reptilian part constitutes the major portion of his brain.   
  
Hannibal tries to catch his gaze on the meat. There is concern in his eyes. "And you looks like a candle burning itself. Look at the growing shadows beneath your eyes. Did you sleep well last night?"

Will would melt for this gentleness if he had no awareness that it is only a part of Hannibal's human suit. Hannibal does have a feeling to him, he can see the warmth in those maroon eyes that is preserved to him only, but it is kindred to a red-hot fire, akin to control and possessiveness. After all, this is a cruel beast. He loves him anyway.

"I was just thinking about the case, about the Ripper." _About you._

"If it is something not meant to be revealed like the box of Pandora, then do not try to do so, Will."

Will wonders when Hannibal will stop hiding the truth from him. Clearly the killer wants him to discover it from the hints on his own. The Sweet William last night was a pebble thrown into the lake. But if he could not rise any ripple on him regardless of how many times he tried, would Hannibal never tell him? Resort to drugging him at night, forcing him to sleep through the hunt, and letting him investigate the bodies in the next morning unwittingly?

Will snorts, then nods to the reproachful urging that asks him to go back home and rest earlier. He twists up his lips before he goes. "Bon appétit."

Hannibal smiles, the beast behind his skin smirks too. Will can see it clearly.

 

 

 

  
The pack bark before his car pulls over as usual. Still have not lower their wariness towards the Other, they are always watching Hannibal closely whenever he is near Will with the preparation to pounce and protect their master if he shows any intent to harm. Their loyalty earn respect from the god.

Once the ancestors of the dogs and human were arch-enemies. But the mortals domesticated these beasts like taming the fire, and Hannibal meets the same fate as the pack; he is also a beast tamed by Will.

Hannibal lets out a silent sigh, but it sounds like a weak whine from a puppy seeking for a pat.

Tutting to himself, he gets out of the car and locks the door. Before he can head towards the house, Will scurries out while searching the other side of the field frantically. He does not even notice Hannibal when he comes next to him. Will is smudged with the scents of sea water, rust, and paints on top of the aftershave, shampoo, and the emerging anxiety.

"Will?"

Will jerks to a halt, looking at him with confusion. "What...What are you doing here? Ah, go inside first, I think I just heard a wounded animal. Need to find it."

Hannibal grips Will's wrist to stop him there, and he looks in his eyes to ensure he is lucid enough and it is not his body wandering around with no control. "Will, let me accompany you. An injured animal is likely to be provoked by fear and attack people. You might need extra help."

"Right." Will takes a step then stops again to size him up. "Your suit..."

"Doesn't matter." Hannibal encourages him by a light press on his back.

Leaving his hesitation behind, Will points a direction and walks towards the wildness with the doctor. Their hands bump into each other, and Hannibal seizes the opportunity to hold Will. The act seems to give his mongoose a tickle. Will laughs. "Hannibal, it is not a romantic date."

"I know, Will," Hannibal whispers against Will's ear. "Sadly, your heart already belongs to someone else."

"Yes." Will muffles a snort. He says with his chin and voice raised. "He is a well-respected man, and he knows how to save lives and make arts. Wanna defeat him? Not a chance."

"You are making me very very envious now." Hannibal nibbles Will's ear, making him gasp and laugh.

"Envious or hungry?" Will shoves Hannibal's chest in a playful mood and flees away like a deft deer. The running triggers Hannibal's instinct, driving him to chase after the mongoose on the instant. Will is not fast enough like every prey he hunted. He captures Will's waist from behind, confines him in a tight hug, and rubs their cheeks together to mark the mortal with his scent.

Will gives out a lovely chuckle while elbowing him. "It is really not a date."

Hannibal sniffs Will's hair before compromising with reluctance. His hands leave the lean and huggable torso, but one of them sticks with Will's hand again. "What are we looking for?"

"Hmm. If it wasn't a coyote, the coyotes probably got it. Probably got it even if it was a coyote."

Hannibal hums to the cannibalistic implication. Will just takes this respond as a sign of listening, and he continues as he looks around the films of snow on the ground, "We'll be lucky to find a paw. Though of course I hope it's still alive."

They patrol further. Hannibal snuffles the air, excluding the ones of Will and himself from the mingled smells. Each conspicuous odour paints a vivid image in his mind. The waving winter aconites, snowdrops, and scillas in the wind, the squirrel hiding acorns beneath the earth, the decaying leaves and thriving fungi under the snow, and the most recent whiff of blood accompanied by the scent of death came from the rodent inside a fox's maw.

Will halts.

"Did you find anything?" Hannibal dismisses the scenes and glances the patch before them.

Will stares at his shoes blankly. "Nothing except the tracks we made."

"Try another direction?"

"No, maybe just...nothing. Maybe it's me..." Will shakes his head and turns back. His voice is weak that almost cannot be heard, "Let's go back."

Hannibal frowns at Will's back and draw the empath in his arms. He sniffs again, the stench of anxiety fills his nose.

 

 

 

  
The necks of the cello and the dead man glitter enticingly under the spotlight and the fixating gaze of the empath. Will studies the throat opening like butterfly wings gingerly, Jack's words describing the identify and the cause of death of the man earn no attention from him, except a hum and a somniloquy-like mumble after their echoes vanish in the desert room. "His killer brought him here to put on a show."

Jack shifts his gaze from the corpse to Will sharply, like Will is a dying animal that he wait to to tear with his beak and claws. "Is it me or is it becoming easier for you to look?"

This case and the cases before are all easy to look, only he is blind to see them.

Will presses down his voice to deaden his snicker. "I tell myself it's purely an intellectual exercise. Not any easier." He throws two aspirin in his mouth and swallows dryly, the thing becomes easier to appear is his headache. He turns back to the human cello. "Shake it off and keep looking."

"Good." Jack nods, pleased just for seeing Will can still be used by him, his voice reverts back to a cold command. "You shake it off. Get to work."

Will's chest is suddenly filled with balefulness. In Jack's eyes, he is just a staunch dog that a bowl of cheap food and a gesture of fake gentleness are enough to earn his loyalty and even his life. That day Jack walked into his classroom, forced him to look, forced him to see, he was using politeness and sentiments, but now there are just hits and kicks waiting for him. The collar stifles his neck, allowing no way for him to escape except death. He wonders if one day he suffered the same fate as Miriam Lass, would Jack have any compunction or any disturbed night for that.

Will grinds his teeth and breathes out a wisp of anger as the door slams. Taking off his glasses, he circles the body and submerges himself in the calm sea of darkness where he belongs.

They both left after the show. His prey was carrying the trombone wasted on a mediocre musician, and he was carrying a staff ready to shrike. He had done it many times before, but this time was different. A new attempt. He wanted to play him. He wanted to create a sound. His sound. An orchestra to death.

Will draws the bow across the strings in the throat, the sonorous sounds resonate in the chest of the dead man, it is a piece written by a life...meets with loud applause.

Will glances up, offended by the interruption. He finds that fool sitting in the light and clapping for his show. Garret Jacob Hobbs.

He blinks, and his eyelids wipe away the ghost form the chair.

The next day when Will sees the cello again, the icy feeling that gives him goosebumps is still creeping on his skin. He stays as far as possible while watching the team prod the body.

"Along with rosin powder, we found sodium carbonate, sulfur dioxide, lye and olive oil in the wounds."

"What's up with the olive oil?" Brian looks up for Beverly's words.

"He wasn't making a salad." Jimmy adds with the same confusion.

And Will curves up his lips covertly. Corpse and salad. He is sure that an expert chef like Hannibal will have method to blend the human flesh with a salad perfectly. Maybe oil extracted from the fat.

Will rubs his face to obliterate his grin, telling himself to focus on the conversation.

"Removed anything non-muscular or fatty around the vocal folds. Cords themselves have been treated with a sulfur dioxide solution."

"Sulfur dioxide had the effect of hardening the vocal cords."

Will looks back onto the body between his fingers. "Made them easier to play," he whispers, a chord from the cello reverberates in the morgue and vibrates in his skull. He flinches mentally for the sounding corpse. "Had to open you up to get a decent sound out of you."

They glances at him with discomfort. He quickly shakes his head to expunge the notes. Beverly tries to enliven the air for him. "You pick it up and can't play it, he'll put you down and play you." Not exactly though.

Will bites back his comment, letting the discussion continued.

"He took the time to whiten the vocal cords before he played them. That's not very contemptuous."

"It wasn't about whitening them," Will clasps his hand to find words for an intelligible explanation. "It was about increasing elasticity."

"He's treating the vocal cords the same way you'd treat catgut string," Beverly pauses for their surprised gazes. "Yes, I played the violin."

"This takes a steady hand. A confidence." Like Hannibal. "He's killed before."

"Like this?"

"Not like this. This is a skilled musician trying a new instrument." He looks into the dead man's throat again, the empty eyes of the Wendigo stares back at him between the strings.

He tells Hannibal the cause when he visits the doctor at lunchtime, but he omits to mention the monster. He never dares to mention it.

"Among the first musical instruments were flutes carved from human bone." Hannibal seems to appreciate the revival of human instruments in the modern era. The doctor holds Will's hand which rests on the edge of the desk as he half leaning back to the table, caressing the joints of his fingers as if considering if he is a suitable material to make a fine bone flute. Will laughs as he extricates his hand from the cannibal. "This murder was a performance."

"Every life is a piece of music." Hannibal watches Will start the habitual pacing again, gaze closely following Will's hands that are fiddling the pen he found on the desk now. "Like music, we are finite events, unique arrangements. Sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant."

"Sometimes not worth hearing again." Will rams the back of the chair.

"He is a poet and a psychopath."

"And a craftsman. He was shrinking and tanning the vocal cords," Will says with disapproval. After seeing the arts of the Ripper, he has no interest in other killers now.

"Like turning iron wire into musical steel string." Hannibal hums. "Was there olive oil?"

Will holds his breath. This is his work? No, no way. That is not his handwriting. And he just held a luxurious dinner party. Is he really trying to a new recipe of human salad?

"Right," he murmurs, observing the killer's demeanour behind his lashes.

"Whatever sound he was trying to produce, it was an authentic one." Hannibal explains in casual tones when he paces around the desk to Will's side like a graceful feline. "Olive oil has not been used in the production of catgut for over a century. It was said to increase the life of the strings and create a sweeter, more melodic sound."

Feeling the firm hand of the killer ruffles his curls and holds the back of his head, Will sighs quietly. "I can hear what he was playing behind my eyes, when I close them."

Hannibal is still gentle with the touches. "What do you see behind your closed eyes?"

Will flutters his eyelids. "I see myself." Wendigo. His monster. His own image.

Hannibal ceases the fondle, studying the profiler intently, like he can see the unearthly beast inside Will's pupils, but soon he carries on with the case, "You said the killer was performing. Who was he performing for?"

"I don't know." Will avoids those ruby eyes instinctively and steps away from the table, though turning his back to a predator is a far more reckless act than exposing his heart. "Patron of the arts. Fellow musician. Or another killer."

"It's a serenade."

Will nods to the piece inside his head. "One night only."

Perhaps for the odd act of the cello killer, or just for Will's speculation, Hannibal replies with amusement, "No repeat performance?"

"This isn't how he kills. How he kills, he doesn't get caught."

"You believe he risked getting caught for a serenade?"

"I believe he wants to show someone how well he plays. Someone that can admire this kind of dramatic exhibition and sordid beauty." Maybe it was for the Ripper. It is not strange that Hannibal has some admirers. But there is a fatal flaw on the cello. "Shame that the strings were not made from the victim's guts. That would be much more profound and striking."

His curved lips draw the cannibal's attention on him, he just pretends he is too concentrated on the windows to be aware of that, letting Hannibal drink him in.

"You are thinking like a real killer, Will."

It should be a warning, but there is an undertone of pride in it.

Will snorts. "I can think like anyone, Doctor."

 

 

 

  
Thread entwines the hook with vibrant feathers and splinters of shells, being cut by the skillful hands of the fisherman. Will strokes the vane that looks nearly translucent under the spilled sunlight, daydreaming about asking Hannibal to fish with him next time and how would the man name his first bait. Probably just "Will"—not being narcissistic, but as far as he knows, he is the only special guest residing in Hannibal's heart. And Hannibal would tell him about the river, the sea, and the old myths of fish, and a beautiful rainbow trout would leap into the air, corresponding Will's love to him.

Will cracks a beam dazedly until it twinges his face. He shakes his head for his infatuation, pulling another hook beneath the magnifying glass as an attempt to pull himself together, however a sudden scratching sound behind him makes him drop down everything.

His dogs are all lying on their beds well-behaved, the only sound they make is just silent and lazy yawn, but the crawling noise continues, resonating in the house, enclosing him, like an uproar from a spoon stirring his brain and scraping inside his skull.

Will leaves the work table to search around. He walks outside the house intuitively. At occasional nights or dawns the scampering shadows of some shy animals can be found near the windows or on the paddock, though it is not the case this evening.

The noise aggravates and shifts into a lunge and a clonk of fall as Will closes the door, startling the pack into barking and flattening their ears towards the fallen ornament that is supposed to be staying on the fireplace.

Will shushes them, though his chest is filled with the same unsettling feeling, his heartbeats accelerate with each step he takes.

He nestles his ear on the wall, imitating the way that he used to listen to the tree breathing when he was a child, but the sound hitting against his ear is more like a hungry howl from the belly of an unfed beast. He decides to act.

Swinging and smacking inflicted on the wall seem to aim to fell a sky-scraping tree, though it ends up with a giant hole in the wall that resembles the entrance of hell, with only whirling powder and ash inside. No hair. No scratch. The noise is still in Will's ears, beating his eardrums, clawing his bones.

Will drops the axe, afraid that he will eventually use it to crack his skull.

He calls Hannibal, who arrives quickly when he is curling up on the porch for the chronic anguish. The doctor strokes his tensed cheek to wheedle him into talking, but he can only bring Hannibal into the house and shows him. Hannibal does not say a word to the hole, instead he walks closer, even peeps inside with a serious look that would bring out a laugh form Will normally.

Having a vague hum to himself, Hannibal turns around. "Is it possible that it scuttled out from beneath when you were hitting the chimney?"

"But my dogs would notice that."

Probably because of the barking to him every time he appears, Hannibal gives a shake of his head and no trust to the pack. He wanders in the house and snoops on all corners, including the space behind the couch, beneath the bed, and even inside Will's drawer of underwear, making Will flush with shyness. Even so, there is no animal fur beside the ones shed from the dogs.

"It possibly just ran away." Hannibal concludes as he rubs the window frame of Will's bedroom overlooking the meadow.

"Or it possibly just existed in my mind."

"Will."

"Don't. There is definitely something wrong with me." Will clutches his hair. "I—I have bad dreams, I see the dead, and now I hear the non-existent animals. I'm sick."

Hannibal gently disentangles his hand and combs his hair, as he nuzzles against his palm in relaxation, Hannibal quickly take a sniff on his neck. "Did you experience other oddity? Sudden cold? Moving object?"

Will frowns with puzzlement, but before he can bring out any question, Hannibal enjoins him with a push on his shoulder. "Go into the kitchen. Get some salt. Use them to draw lines on the doorstep and the windows."

"What?"

"Salt is a purifier. As rivers to the vampires, salt lines are uncrossable to most wicked beings."

Will stands in stunned silence as Hannibal walks pass him with the intent to retrieve it himself. "What? Hannibal!" He strides and hauls the man, the thing is becoming more and more ridiculous than he can ever imagine. "It's more likely that my brain is sick than my home is haunted. And ghosts don't exist."

"Oh, Will." Hannibal sighs loudly, and his lips forge into a perfect curve. This predatory smile erect all the hair on Will's nape, where Hannibal stokes him and gives him more trembling thrill. Cannot stand the tantalizing touches, Will turns away his head, but gaining a hot kiss on his rosy cheek. Hannibal speaks in soft tones of the devil. "Let me stay here tonight to see if your house is haunted or not."

Will finds himself nodding like an innocent lamb caught by a devilish wolf.

Though, ever the gentleman, Hannibal has no real intention to do anything to Will, only cuddling him on the bed and acting as a comfort blanket embracing him soundly. Will does not know how many lives these arms have taken, he might ask it when Hannibal has enough trust in him, but now he just closes his eyes under a goodnight kiss landed on his forehead, falling into a peaceful dream that has only the stag nuzzling up against him.

When he opens his eyes again, the sunlight already shines on his face, and Hannibal just enters the room. "Good morning, mongoose. Breakfast is ready," he plants a kiss on Will's grin, leaving the aroma of coffee on his lips. "You didn't toss around last night. I presume that you sleep well. No serenade behind your eyes?"

"No." And Hannibal curves up his lips for relish but not relief, of course, he wants to occupy every inch of Will's brain. Will decides to stoke the killer's ego further, "You're better than any whiskey or pill."

There are more conspicuous wrinkles around Hannibal's eyes. "I don't mind sleeping beside you every night, for your physical and mental health. Touch can help the release of dopamine."

Will raises his eyebrows, "How much is your hug therapy, Doctor Lecter?"

"Free if you reciprocate."

"Is it a support group?"

Hannibal wants to reply, but it loses in Will's laughter. He turns to kiss the mongoose fondly, then asks him to eat breakfast downstairs.

"I would love to spend the day with you, Will, but I am afraid that my patients have appointments with me," Hannibal says with a peck as compensation after they cleaned up the dishes.

Will rejoins one on Hannibal's cheekbone. "I also have class to teach. See you tonight?"

Hannibal nods, and he feels Will's chocolate curls again before drawing back to reach his coat, but he pauses midway. "Before I go...Will, I must tell you this even though it will violate the doctor-patient confidentiality. A patient told me yesterday he suspects his friend may be involved with the murder at the symphony."

Will stands still for the abrupt information. "What...did he say about his friend?"

"He owns a music store in Baltimore, specializing in string instruments. Perhaps you should interview him."

Hannibal is offering him a chance to kill.

"Fine." he breathes with his growling beast.

 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

  
"I just killed two men."

Hannibal had never expected a simple sentence from a mortal can hurt him that much.

Will, Will, his Will...

What has he done?

He chose this path, chose this fate for Will, hoping Will would grow stronger and the blood spilled would help the seeds to sprout, but it is too much, too wrong. A step miscalculated. He forgot how fragile a mortal can be. He pushed Will directly into the lion's den and the embrace of the death, shattering his teacup, cutting his own heart, tearing his own soul.

He was right about love. Love weaken him, hurt him, stab him, make him pain and make him bleed.

Having no strength to fight back, Hannibal lets Tobias Budge whip him and stab him. He whines with remorse and despair cutting his throat, blaming himself for what he has done, letting the pain to punish him.

A mortal with only bare hands has no ability to take a god's life, but Hannibal could, and he should suffer for eternal agony for his deed, like the Titan bound on the mountain and tortured by the eagle for the stealing of fire. And this pig who dares to hurt Will and humiliate a god by taking away his love, should be burned in the infinite fire of the deepest hell.

With wrath coursing through his veins, Hannibal grabs the swinging wire to pull the mortal towards him, the arm like a caught fish lands on his palm, being treated as a twig and broken into halves. The pig screams and struggles to thrash with the other hand, Hannibal just chokes him and sends him onto the ground with the stag sculpture nearby, then with one more strike the mortal just falls into the death that easily, leaving the god in rage and grief that can be released to nowhere.

Thud.

Soundless.

Hannibal slumps into the chair, into his meaningless throne.

Will is gone. He is alone again. He will be in torment for eons.

He winces again, the lifeless room is already as gelid as the last hall of the inferno. Trying to bring up a warm memory of Will, he fumbles out his sketchbook and flips to the latest drawing of Will smiling to him sheepishly and sweetly, but it only pierces his heart deeper. He whines and reaches out, being careful not to let the blood on his hand stain Will's beauty and innocence. The rough paper is nothing like the soft and rosy cheeks of Will, but it is all he has now.

Will is dead.

It is all his fault.

The paramedics come for his call and bandage his wounds that keep bleeding as he shuts down the healing process for a self-punishment, also for dwindling the suspiciousness on himself. He considered to disclose his identity of the Ripper and lets the mortals put him in endless incarceration to redeem his sin, but not yet. He needs to take a look at Will's body, to scent his death and locate his lost soul. He will bring him back. He will. At all costs.

He knows Hades and Thanatos, though they are merely acquaintances having no contact with him in the last hundreds of years. But if they are not willing to release Will, he will fight against them, and he will kill them.

As he is already mentally prepared for a divine war, Jack Crawford walks into his view. He swallows and lowers his gaze, waiting for another statement to batter him. Yet, the scents of fresh blood, faint pine, and the familiar aftershave drift into the room.

 

 

 

  
Will had never imagined to see Hannibal in such a vulnerable state. Hair tousled, face tinted with bruises and gore, and hand covered with gauze, this is a look of a bleeding beast, powerless and helpless, with eyes glittering with tear.

Hannibal grasps his wounded hand, the strength is so strong that it hurts him more that the slicing wire.

"I was worried you were dead."

Then, Will knows that the monster he loves does have a human heart, and this man he loves, does love him back.

Being drown in the fierce feeling, Will can no longer focus on anything else. He does not care how Hannibal answers Jack's queries, does not care about the lives Hannibal has taken. He just loves him. Loves him madly.

A gentle tug lets him snapback. Jack and the others are already gone along with the bodies, leaving him and Hannibal alone. Hannibal is still holding his hand, gazing at him, like he will vanish at the moment he blinks. He grabs back and smiles. "Let's go home."

Will serves as a crutch to help Hannibal get into the car and inside the house. But the wound on the leg deters the man nothing, Hannibal insists to fetch some drink for Will right after they close the door, the hospitable offer just gets rolled eyes from the empath and him being forced to sit on the chair on the kitchen corner. "We both know your leg hurts for every step you take. Don't pretend."

"Pain is never a problem for me."

"Nice try. Sit back."

"I heal fast, Will. There is no need to fuss with my injuries."

"Yeah, right. Just shut up and sit there. I'll make us dinner."

"Allow me to remind you, your hand is injured too."

Will glances at his bandage and shrugs, "I can wear a glove."

Hannibal winces for the sight in his mind. "Will—"

"Okay. Then we only have one choice left. You want pizza or cheeseburger?"

Hannibal stares at him with a mixed expression of irritation and confusion, as if contemplating whether he should leave the chair to kill and eat him. Will smirks and asks where he stored the utensils and ingredients, then rolls up his sleeves to make some Spaghetti Bolognese, one of the few dishes that he can handle without making a mess, under the cautious stare of the doctor. He is not quite sure if Hannibal is concerned he will find the secret and forbidden meat by happenstance, or worried he will set a fire to his kitchen. He eyes back, and Hannibal gives him a look full of affection, burning his ears.

After they finished the simple supper, Hannibal can no longer stay still. He helps with the dish washing, then he hugs Will from behind, nuzzles his neck, and uses the soft whisper to tempt him to stay here tonight with puffs of breath spinning his mind. He clutches Hannibal's arms and lets out a strained chuckle. "I don't think our wounds will allow us to do severe activity."

A series of chaste kisses rest upon his nape, ensuring him. "Your company is enough. That is all I want. Stay with me."

Will turns around to look at Hannibal's smile and the garnet eyes filled with bittersweetness, which draw him closer and lure him to rest his arms on the older man's shoulders. "Where else would I go? I'm all yours."

Hannibal growls, he literally rumbles when he devours Will's lips, sucks him and bites him in ferocious passion, and his arms cage and press Will to him, letting their hearts beat alongside each other. The sparks ignited send Will into a daze, he innocently parts his lips to breathe, giving the doctor a chance to invade him lecherously. Hannibal teases the roof of his mouth and interweaves their tongues, drawing a small moan out from his throat. Hot. Too hot. Will wants to pull away to cool down his overheated mind, but Hannibal holds his head and kisses him deeper, distracting him while the other hand crawls down from his nape to his back, finally cupping his buttocks.

Will whimpers and grabs Hannibal's collar hopelessly. Just a kiss but he is already panting hard, and the heat is starting to accumulate in his groin.

Hannibal must have sensed it, he smirked against the kiss, squishes Will's cheek and pounces on his tightened groin straightaway, making Will moan and grind against his palm instinctively, but he withdraws at the next second, leaving the empath in the throbbing need.

"Don't stop..." Will snarls and tries to get his hand back.

Hannibal narrows his eyes with amusement. "You just said that we should not have sexual activity tonight considering our wounds, Will."

"This is your fault!"

"I apologize." Hannibal purrs in his ears, showing no guilt at all. "Take off your clothes for me, my love. Let me take care of you."

Lightheaded, Will succumbs to the coaxing. He fumbles with his belt and unzipped his pants, neither him nor Hannibal has the patience now, the doctor takes him in his hand directly, thumb caressing his beading tip. "You are exquisite, my sweet Will."

The balant praise causes shudder on Will. He grows harder in the strong grab and starts to leak uncontrollably for the shame and excitement. He grunts and brandishes his words, "Harassing your patient and touching his dick and ass, where is your ethical code, Doctor?"

"Don't worry, Will, this is not the most indecent thing I can do." Hannibal piles up an alluring smirk and bestows Will another deep kiss.

Will is completely lost, he gasps and grates against the palm, seeking for the contact he had dreamt for innumerous times before. Soon Hannibal removes his hand again, Will groans to complain, but what replaces it is the older man's erection, huge and heavy and thick, the sight of it alone already renders Will breathless, not to mention the heat and the slickness of the precum dripping on him, burning him from the inside out.

Will whines as Hannibal rubs him with that and makes his knees feeble. "Oh God. Oh God..."

"Call me Hannibal," Hannibal mumbles with a smug grin, he wraps them together, strokes and squeezes hard.

Will cannot even stand straight in the immense waves, he tumbles into Hannibal's chest, flushing with heat and lust. His whole body is yelling for more and more, but Hannibal is not giving him any relief, just fuelling his desire by the malicious teases to his weeping head. Will pleads now, he struggles and thrusts desperately. Hannibal shushes him, tightens the grip and bites his neck, sending both of them to the highest peck.

Will is adrift for a long while, burying himself in Hannibal's hug. He chuckles as the cannibal laps away their melded release from his palm in a meticulous way, finding it alarming and enticing.

Then what starts throbbing now is his wounded hand. He stiff and tears himself away from Hannibal immediately, "Is, is your leg alright? Damn, I totally forgot about it. Did I aggravate it?"

"No need to worry, Will." Hannibal tugs him back and nuzzles his check like a lazy big cat. "Compared to any medicine, sex is the most effective method of alleviating pain."

Will laughs at the words and the tickle. "I can't believe you actually said that."

Hannibal just wets his cheek with a kiss. "Take a shower. I will lend you clothes. You will only leave after the sun rises."

Will has no reason to refuse. He uses the bathroom in the guest room, leaving the one in the master bedroom for Hannibal, then he rushes back into the room wearing nothing but robe and sneaks under the duvet, where Hannibal joins him a minute later.

"Will..."Hannibal sighs at the view of Will lying on his bed, scooping him into his arms in a hurry, and he sighs again. "I would say that I might suffer from nightmare from now on. The thought of losing you...I could not bear to lose you, Will."

"I'm here," Will cups Hannibal's face, looking him into his eyes. "It's over now. Nothing is going to happen to me."

Hannibal snuggles to get nearer to him, eyes half-closed. "I cannot watch over you the whole time, mongoose."

"Are...you my guardian angel?" Will gives him a skeptical stare and a laugh. "You don't have to. I can protect myself."

"I am not doubting your ability, yet, you humans are fragile beings, merely made of flesh and bones, you could break your neck, could bleed to death, and even a tiny and lifeless thing could take your lives."

"Hmm, as if you are not one of these weak animals."

Will pokes Hannibal's chest, Hannibal grabs his wrist while casting him an unamused glance. He plants a kiss on his palm, heavy and promising. "I would tear the hell if they dared to immure your soul; I would burn the heaven if they dared to steal you away from me."

His crimson irises are shining with love and devotion, too overwhelming that Will needs to avert his gaze, or it will burn his heart. He closes his eyes, lets his head rest on Hannibal's chest, half-kidding. "Say that again in our wedding."

Hannibal pledges with a kiss.

Will cannot hear what he mutters in his ear, he drifts into the bottom of his mind, where the stag waiting for him.

 

 

 

  
Will's stomach grumbles to the soaring sight of the human totem. He have not had breakfast yet. He is hungry.

He licks his lower lip, eyes roaming at the protruding extremities of the tower, wondering how many dishes could be made with this large amount of meat, and if the number of corpses comparable to the pigs Hannibal slaughters in a year.

He shudders and breathes. Gosh. He is too tired. Too hungry.

Will rubs his face roughly, harnessing his beast and forcing his attention back to the analysis.

Too many heads. Too many limbs.

He put them with precision, using the flesh to tell his story. Piece by piece. Year by year. All the deeds in his whole life. His monument. His résumé. His legacy.

Will tugs up his lips, ready to call Jack back, then, a sticky drop of warmth drips on his cheek.

He touches it without a thought, it stains his fingertip into a smear of carmine.

Another drop lands in front of his shoes.

He looks up. The pale and rotting face of the dead man lunges to him. He gasps and staggers backwards, losing his balance, and falls down on his bottom. He tries to get up, but a tide of blood swamps all over the beach, the cold waves grip and pin him down, immobilizing him, pushing him to face the rage of death.

"See?"

The ghost's twisted smirk looms over Will. Blood keep dripping from the gun wounds of his abdomen, like water of an newly-washed cloth, drowning Will in his own sins.

"See?"

Laughter pierce through Will's head, covering the sounds of wind and the sea, but Will can see it coming, a giant tide rising from the edge of the world, looming over, ready to engulf...

"Will!"

The shout bashes the spirit all of a sudden. Will winces for the firm hand gripping his shoulder, he hardly swallows back his scream when Jack's face enters his view.

"What are you doing on the ground?"

Will clears his throat to buy some time, and luckily, his voice is still with him. "No...Nothing." Rough though, but he is not going to complain. He hurries to stand up, secretly checking his hands for any sign of blood while he wipes away the sticky sand as Jack's eyes leave him and back to the totem pole.

"What did you see?"

"Not the Ripper. If you are cursing him for that."

"...What made you so sure?"

Well, Hannibal never eats spoiled meat. Will twists his lips. "This is his road travelled. Years of killing. Our Ripper loves to show off whenever he gets a body. He just can't wait that long. The headpiece, who ever it was, must be very special to this killer. He saved him for the last. Invited him to witness his work finished. His monument."

"Monument?" Jack hums, not fond of the idea. There is an unnamed killer taking dozens of lives and they had never noticed a sign before.

Will is not certain which kind of serial killers is more successful: the one that draw no attention to themselves, or the one that are keen on displaying their arts like Hannibal.

He glances over the totem again, absent-mindedly looking up. The head at the top shifts into the face of Garret Jacob Hobbs. He dares not to let himself gasp this time.

 

 

 

  
Will collapses on the chaise, with his face tucked into his palms, he confesses like a guilty sinner. "I've been sleepwalking. I'm experiencing hallucinations. I'm hearing animals that don't exist at all. I must be sick."

Hannibal finishes folding the jacket he tossed on the longue before sitting beside him, using a gentle stroke on the cheek to lure him lean to his chest. He nuzzles and noses Will's neck. "You don't have any illness. Except your exhaustion."

"No. I—I am sick." Will shakes his head. "I just saw him."

Hannibal's hand halts for a second before it resumes patting Will's curls. He speaks the name with fortitude while Will is afraid uttering a single vowel will evoke the ghost here, "Garret Jacob Hobbs."

Will shudders through the revenant of blood and cold does not appear for the call. "I can't get rid of him and the illusions. Maybe I should get a brain scan." Maybe he has a tumor, like the Angel Maker. That could be the reason why he keeps seeing hellish visions. That could be the reason why he keeps having murderous urges. But...it was already there when he dispatched the bird? Could...it be the base of his empathy?

"Will, stop looking in the wrong corner for an answer to this. You are apparently healthy." Hannibal cups and lifts up his head, savaging him from his turmoil. "The ghost pestered you in the crime scene? What did you see there?"

Will straightens up. "It was a totem pole of bodies."

Hannibal hums. It is meant to be a showing of contemplation, but Will can catch a subtle contentment in it. Strange.

"Totem poles are sacred. Would it be an oblation? A barbaric offering to the god? Where was the totem? The location might give you a hint of what divinity this killer is worshipping. Forest or sea? Earth or sky?"

"It was on a beach. But I don't think that is for Poseidon or any other sea gods. That is not even an offering to anyone, Hannibal," Will gives the doctor a brief look, bemused that Hannibal is far from the bullseye today. "These are his achievements. Showing off all his killings at once."

"He had been lurking in the shadows." Hannibal seems to regain his analytical sense, helping him to summarize. "What made him decide to evince his victims now? Or, was he brewing this plan since the first day he killed?"

Does not really care about this killer, Will only wants to ask if Hannibal already gained that peculiar palate at the first time he slaughtered. The question is held back as he bites the tip of his tongue, falling down to the very bottom of the canyon, where he deposits every question he would like to but dares not to explore yet. He inhales, trying to ignore the distracting touches on his cheeks and his hair. "Not sure. We're still conducting postmortem examination. Many bodies, you know," he unobtrusively throws a sideways glance to the serial killer sitting next to him. "It will be more clear when the identities of the first and the last victim are determined. But definitely something huge happened to him lately."

"Like the unavoidable death to the Angel Maker," Hannibal twines into the mongoose's curls, the tending massage seduces a soft and lovely moan from Will, which quirks up his lips and tempts him to print them on Will's neck where the pulse beats beneath the porcelain skin. "Also like the infatuation to the Chesapeake Ripper?"

The Ripper abruptly stopped the spree, cause he already held his feast and won Will's heart. It is actually inspiring to know that throwing himself into the beast's mouth can make the monster refrain from killing, but Will wants Hannibal to court him with more corpses and dishes.

Will snarls and finds himself teasing the beast nipping his throat, "He is not having a crush anymore. No more love letters. No more bodies. You know, even postman knows you always need to ring twice."

Hannibal glances up at him, not wearing a smile, but there are creases on the corners of his eyes. "He rang several times, however the empty house itself had no voice to make a response."

"Maybe he just didn't ring loud enough." Will shifts away his gaze. "The first time is great, but the later ones are just...ordinary. Only putting flowers on the bodies. Like sending cheap holiday cards to an estranged friend. Any killer can do that. If he wants to conquer a heart, he should try harder."

"Sound like you would like him to kill again. Dangerous thought, Will," Hannibal purred against his ear. "Have you heard of Kotodama? Words have divine power, guaranteeing our curses and wishes. Be careful what you wish for."

"What? I said nothing." Will snorts and elbows Hannibal who hugs him tightly, knowing well that nothing can halt the murderous plan weaving in the killer's mind now.

 

 

 

  
The totem killer is easy to find as he covered no trace pointing at him, simply wishing to be caught and sent to jail. Despite that, it is still counted as a new glory catch of Will. And as always, giving him no bone and no praise, Jack immediately sends him to inspect another body. A newly-unearthed corpse enfolded by sheets of ice and soil, rotting on the cold autopsy table, like a book waiting to tell a forbidden story.

It was the brother of the antler girl.

The Ripper's scapegoat.

The boy attacked Abigail and vanished. Vanished underneath the ground.

He was supposed to be vanished.

Someone released him, could not bear with the growing fear of someone might discover their secret, so they did it themselves.

Will closes his eyes unwillingly. The dead crawls up and stands. With the spoiled innards swaying on him, he approaches, and Will can only fix on his milky eyes. A ghostly knife stabs into Will's stomach. He winces. The girl stares at him with horror and revulsion. And she guts him like a pig.

Great.

First the pretentious and lovesick cannibal, then the disgusting mushroom guy, now the daughter of another cannibal.

Is he prone to attract monsters to him?

Will almost kicks open the door as he rushes into Hannibal's office.

What should he do? He can tell no one—not Jack, not Alana, no one except Hannibal—that Abigail butchered a person, that she lured all those girls to their death.

Their daughter is a monster like them.

He thought he did a good deed, saving an innocent life instead of taking one, but in fact that is a wolf cloaked under the fleece of a sheep. And now he wants to undo his act.

Hannibal was in the middle of sketching an European architecture, he is still for the unexpected intrusion. Will cannot even wait for him to recover, he throws out directly. "Abigail killed Nicholas Boyle."

Hannibal's countenance is unchanged. He settles down his pencil, finger brushing the edge of the paper, and he contemplates for a second. "Yes, I know."

Will huffs. What else Hannibal is hiding from him? The identity of a sadistic killer is not enough? How long he wants to keep the truth from him? Or will he never tell him?

He breathes through his grinding teeth. "Tell me why you know."

"I helped her dispose of the body."

"Evidently not well enough." Will sneers, the honesty Hannibal gives him at this moment soothe him a bit, still he needs to turn his face to the windows in an attempt to cool down his singeing frustration.

Hannibal walks to him. "Have you told Jack Crawford?" A tincture of apprehension hovers his face, Will has no mood to decipher if it is pretended or not.

"No," he replies in a mutter.

"Why not?"

"I was hoping it wasn't true."

He saw the truth at the very beginning, he could see the deception in the girl's eyes, he just chose to blind himself, hoping Abigail was only obeying her father's words but not her own will, hoping he had finally done one good thing for the world.

"Now you know the truth."

Will flinches. "Do I?"

"Everything you know about that night is true. Except the end. Nicholas Boyle attacked us. Abigail's only crime was to defend herself."

"She slaughtered him. Like a pig. And you say it was a self-defense." Will is amazed that Hannibal can keep his face straight when he utters such nonsense. Seething, he looks right into the man's eyes and wields his onslaught. "How about Cassie Boyle? Hmm? Marissa Schurr, the nurse, and the Venus guy? You killed all of them in self-defense too?"

Hannibal freezes again.

Will can hear his breath cease.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

  
  
Eyelashes flutter, the abyss-like pupils consume the surrounding redness illuminated by the street light; these are the only slight changes appear on the well-sewed person suit of the beast, so entrancing that Will forgets how to blink.

Hannibal remains unfazed under the piercing stare of Will. He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath, like an awaking animal rising up. "Will, you are accusing me of—"

"Don't." Will bares his teeth. "Don't lie to me. Lie can conceal your nature no more. I know you. I know what you are. I see you."

Strong words dull into a whisper, evoking wrinkles around Hannibal's eyes as he narrows them with amusement and pride. "Tell me what I am."

"Do I have to?" Will coughs out a dry laugh. Catching Hannibal off guard fills him with the joy of dominance, driving him to do things that are more dangerous. He steps forward, like initiating a dance with the beast, he grabs Hannibal's tie and use it as a leash to pull the monster to his fangs. "We both know what you are. Don't pretend."

Hannibal only returns a hum that sounds like a satisfied purr from a feline. He reaches out to Will's cheek, hand warm and firm and reassuring as same as the night he found Will lost on the road like a stray. The elegant fingers trace towards his ear and curls, holding the back of his head with intimacy and control. "Indulge me."

Laughing, does not care about the hand can crush his skull anytime Hannibal wants, Will speaks the devil's name, "You are the Chesapeake Ripper."

His declaration draws the beast to him. Despite the man is only slightly higher than him, it still feels like an intimidating threat as Hannibal looms over him. The grip tangling his hair is tightened, and the thin and charming lips alight on his own, luring him to close his eyes. "Remarkable boy."

Praise with outright fondness sends a shiver down Will's spine. His eyes flutter open, and breath is already shallow for the tantalizing tension brewing between them. He is certain his pupils are dilated too.

Hannibal just continues massaging his scalp, as a refined gentleman as always. "Tell me when you realized."

"That night you saved the man in the ambulance, I looked at you, and what looked back was a feral beast. Then I found out."

Hannibal's eyes are sparkling with pride. "You refer me as a wild being, not the monsters that you catch."

Will cannot help, a sheepish smile along with a blush tint his face. "You are way more beautiful than them." Those arts, those delicacies, those dark eyes stained with crimson of blood. Knowing Hannibal is the Ripper makes him fall deeper and deeper for the man. He is a perfect man. A perfect killer.

The gaze at him becomes more fervent, but Hannibal asks instead of turning the intensity into a passionate kiss they both crave, "Do you want to cage a beautiful beast as another trophy of yours?"

Will's first reaction is snort. Oh, really, he not only told nothing to Jack, he also still dated him, let him kiss him, and even shared a bed with him. And Hannibal worries that he wants to kick him into jail?

"No one can cage you," Will turns his head to the windows, almost pouting. "And your freedom is not what I want from you, or Jack would already rampage your house for your dangerous habit."

Hannibal's hand now comes to his nape with thumb stroking his fragile spine. "What do you truly desire?" The husky whisper kisses his ear, luring his forbidden wish out of his lips.

"I want to be your protégé."

To learn how to convert a pig into delicious dishes and fine arts. To hunt with him under the moonlight. To bathe in the searing blood with him. To unleash his own beast.

He is standing on the cliff now, the abyss is reaching out for him. A primal urge to jump courses through his veins. He looks back to the beast which encourages him with a beam.

"Oh, Will..." Hannibal sighs, he cups Will's face again. Will nuzzles against the touch and allows its guide to lift up his chin, exposing his bare throat to the hungry gaze of the beast. The unconditional trust draws a literal purr from the killer.

Hannibal pressed their foreheads together, looking into Will's heart behind the fallen threads of his hair. He makes a promise, a vow. "You will be my equal, my love."

"Then make me yours."

A storm of passion responses his wish, engulfs his lips and drags him into a sweet daze. Hannibal pries open his lips to taste and claim every inch of his mouth, taking away his ability to breathe. Will grabs Hannibal's collar helplessly, but it is taken as an invitation, Hannibal presses his muscular torso tightly to Will, the half-hard erection grinds against Will's groin, making him moan and stumble backwards under the push. Will ends up lying on the chaise with his face blushed and crotch bulging, like a pliable prey ready to be eaten.

Hannibal crawls on him nimbly, the hot kiss and the weight pressing on him spur his want further, he tangles his legs to Hannibal's waist and rubs against him instinctively, making the man groan and tighten the grab on his curls.

"Will." Hannibal pins down his hip and hisses in a raspy voice.

Will just hums in reply and palms Hannibal's crotch directly, drawing an irritated and pleased growl from him.

"Naughty boy." Hannibal dislodges Will's hand and nibbles his finger joints as a punishment, teeth caressing his skin in a lovely way while he calls him a boy again. Will cannot say he hates his expression when his cheeks are heated up more. The rosy colour on his face attract a peck, Hannibal sighs to his ear, "This is not the way I envisioned of having you."

"You wanted a dinner with candles and a bed with petals?"

"That should be arranged as you wish," Hannibal mutters in seriousness and lifts himself away.

Will cannot believe it. "What—come back here! I swear I will disclose you if you don't fuck me now."

Hannibal chuckles, amused to his frustration and ire, then Will knows he is just messing with him. He groans with annoyance, and he kicks his legs when Hannibal tries to take off his shoes. And once their feet are bare, Hannibal climbs back to Will and reclaims his lips, he makes him pant with urge again, cannot even be aware that his flannel is being unbuttoned until the cold air envelop his torso.

Will lifts up himself to allow Hannibal take away his shirt. Lips and hands land on him immediately, he hums and smiles with appreciation to the kisses bestowed on his collarbones and fondling on his chest. And he has a sudden and blizzard impulse to tell: "I don't know how old I was when that happened, just a kid, but the memory of it was printed in my mind."

Hannibal glances up while still kissing his chest, making him laugh and reach to ruffle the man's hair, just like patting a docile feline kneading him. "I was alone at home when I heard a painful cry which led me to a little bird lying under a tree. One of its wings was broken. In a very bad condition. Dying." He pauses, like trying to remember the softness of the feathers against his palm.

Hannibal eyes him with interest and confusion. "Did you save it?"

"I twisted its neck."

"In an act of mercy."

"In an act of violence."

"That was your first kill," purring, Hannibal looks definitely pleased. He gets up and holds Will's cheeks, "I should tell you mine in exchange."

"Go on." Will snuggles to lie more comfortable, his eyes are glinting under the vague light spilling from the curtains.

"I was still a newborn." Will quirks a brow to the word choice, but continues listening. "That was a lone man had no vigilance and preparation. I attacked him from the front, pinned him down and tore his throat with my teeth." Hannibal noses Will's throat, breathing in his scent as his teeth brush over the bobbing Adam's apple. "He still had a faint breath remaining when I ripped open his abdomen." His hands saunter to Will's stomach, pressing slightly to feel the organs beneath with the unnerving precision gained from years of training and hunting. "I eviscerated him. I feasted on his entrails. The heart, was the most delicious part of him." Kiss lands right upon Will's leaping heart, like a lick from fire, spurring it to throbbing louder.

"You are really a beast."

Hannibal reveals a toothy smile, his burning gaze rest on Will's crotch as he speaks, "And I will feast on you now."

Will shivers with nervousness and excitement, his breath become heavy as Hannibal touches his belt, but he grabbed his arms and demands in a raspy voice, "Take off yours first."

With a huge reluctance, Hannibal gives a loud sigh before he tosses off his clothes with no care on folding them, given both of their desires are aching in need. He is already fully erected, huge and glittering with the precum. The arousing sight makes Will's cock leak inside his pants which are ripped away at the next second by Hannibal's hands.

"You are luscious." Hannibal watches Will in awe, rising a shy resistance when he encourages Will spread out his legs with a small push. He strokes and plants soft kisses on the pastel skin of the inner thighs as a reward to Will's finally obedience after a few tries of coaxing. Will starts to tense as his lips and palms draw dangerously close to his groin, shuddering under the boiling anticipation, even lets out a whine when a ghostly breath brush his cock.

But the sadistic killer has no plan to comfort him, ignoring the needing shaft, he palms Will's testicles, gently rubs and sucks them to force Will squirm. Please come out from Will's lips easily. "Hanni, Hannibal..."

Hannibal shushes again, eventually decides to show some mercy and lets his tongue run from the base to the dripping slit. More liquid seeps out for him, and he laps all of them contently. But Will is voracious, he pushes Hannibal's head and keeps wiggling his hip to thrust. Hannibal holds him down, devours him completely and sucks hard till he whimpers desperately.

Hannibal moans as his own cock swells in pain, but he focuses on pleasing his love, continues sucking and stroking while his idle hand traverses behind the sac to the perineum. It seems not only the mind, Will's body is also very sensitive, a slight tease already makes him cries out, toe curling and fingers gripping Hannibal's hair, almost drown in the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't, don't...I'll come..."

Hannibal releases him in reluctance, plants a tender kiss on his reddish cheek then leaves him there without saying a word. Will groans in confusion, like an abandoned puppy in the rain, but given his wobbling legs having no strength for him to move, he can only turns his head to see Hannibal stride across the room and search the drawer, and the triumphant reveal of a lube provokes his laugh. He throws the side-eye to the man who returns and crawls over him quickly. "You said you were not hoping to fuck me here."

"Just in case," Hannibal replies with no shame, and he nudges Will's knees. "Now, relax."

Will lays his head back, adjusting his breath and bracing himself for the intrusion. Hannibal is much larger than him—he glimpses between his legs again to drink in the size—and he is hungry for that.

Slick fingers brush his hole first, rubbing and massaging gently when the affectionate kisses on his thighs distract him. He relaxes in the tenderness, Hannibal slides a digit inside and withdraws slowly, massages the muscles again and explores deeper. Soon two fingers are buried inside wholly, Will fights back the urge to clutch them as they move in and out in an agonizingly slow pace. Though he does not need to wait long, the experienced doctor finds his prostate instantly, he moans for the spark and writhes to seek another brush, but Hannibal just continues to scissor him open and rubs his muscles, hardly touching his sweet spot.

"Stop teasing..." Will protests in a weak voice, he wiggles again and the accidental touch shakes him, tempting him to rock harder to fuck himself with the fingers, "Fuck me, please, fuck me!"

"Since you asked so nicely." Curling up his lips, Hannibal pulls out to place a cushion beneath Will's waist.

Will growls for the sudden loss, but his complaint shortly becomes a welcoming moan as the bulbous head presses against him and wets his hole with the sumptuous precum.

"Please." Can no longer bear with his desire, Will begs again, struggling and seeking for the cock to fill him fully.

Hannibal rewards him with a push, breaches his hole and slides inside inch by inch, stretching him open wider and wider. The sore fullness is intoxicating, Will clenches and sucks the shaft greedily, trying to get the whole cock inside him. Hannibal grunts and loses his composure at once, he dives in with a quick thrash, filling Will completely, just like the way he does to Will's mind.

They pant for the euphoria of their first bonding, eyes fixed solely on each other, looking deeply into the souls. The music, the light, all the surroundings, and even their own needs are all forgotten at this moment. Then a slight move resulting from the heavy breathing reminds them their painful urge, Will nods eagerly to show he is ready.

Hannibal starts with a slow and caring speed, looking for any sign of unwell shown on Will's face, then Will writhes again in desperation after a sweet brush, his choked sounds and pleading provoke the beast. Hannibal speeds up with each thrust aiming at the prostate precisely, drawing out moans and tremors from Will.

Will is covered with blush and sweat, toes curling and hands grabbing the edge of the chaise, he wriggles to let Hannibal thrust deeper, earning the escalating pleasure. Too hot. Too deep. Too full. The fierce waves of sensation drown him, he struggles to breathe, but all the air come out from his lungs as whimpers and sobs. He clutches Hannibal uncontrollably now, the beginning of spasm is rising from inside. "Hanni...I can't, I can't..."

But disregarding his warning, Hannibal bumps harder. "Come to me, Will. Let me see you." He grabs Will's twisting member, Will screams for the touch, spattering all over his stomach as Hannibal thrusts deep and fills him with his seeds.

After a dazed moment, Hannibal withdraws carefully, Will growls with a lazy twist of his lips, though he is still basking in the afterglow, he has no strength to comment. He just lies there and pants, then laughs when Hannibal crawls to his stomach to lap away his release.

"Well, that is cannibalism."

The cannibal permits a smirk and continues until all the liquid go into his belly.

"You're a terrible monster." Will bites Hannibal's lips as they comes back to kiss him.

"You said you don't see me as a hideous monster." Hannibal hugs him tight like trying to suffocate him.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Hannibal sighs like facing a spoiled puppy. He combs Will's mussed hair, then seduces him in his ears. "Come to my place. I have something to show you."

 

 

 

 

Not serving him a drink as usual, Hannibal directly leads Will into his basement, where he stores the utensils and wines and nothing as suspicious as Will had imagined, except a locked door. Hannibal opens it with a key on him, revealing a metal ladder that dives down into a sea of shadows. Will breathes in the sinister coldness, his unerring sixth sense plucks up all his hair at once, yelling and asking him to fight against the palm pressing his back and fleet.

Nonetheless, he takes a step forward and descends from the light into the quiet darkness. It is just like submerging himself into a stream, the chill and comfortable shadows greet him pleasantly, embracing him like an old friend.

As his feet land on the solid ground, the door above swirls and kills the light with a small click, locking him alone with the approaching beast.

He should be scared. He really should run now. After fucking him, of course Hannibal will want to lure him into his den and devour him alive when he is still full with his cum.

Will shivers as a sudden kiss brands his nape, and while he is pondering how Hannibal can moves in complete darkness so swiftly, another click of sound fills the cavernous space with a blazing light.

Will squints his eyes to adjust the brightness, sizing up the corridor of draping plastic. Hannibal's hand comes back to Will's waist, and with the elegant gait of a waltz, he guides Will through the layers to the deepest part of his cave.

It is decorated with plastic and metal, acting as a pantry and a morgue at the same time, with fridges, meat cutters and meat mixers, and chains of shackles dangling from the ceiling and a metal table beside the rows of scalpels, scissors, saws, hemostatic forceps, kidney dishes and other tools Will cannot name, occupying the center of the room that serves only sheen and no gutted body now, to Will's disappointment.

Everything is shining clear and looks like brand new, yet Will is hyper aware that they have been stained with viscous crimson for countless times. The echoes of fear and pain are bouncing between the pale walls, and the sweetness of blood and flesh enclose and perfume his skin.

He wets his lips unconsciously, tongue brushing his canines. He turns back to Hannibal and meets his intense gaze, "You haven't kill recently."

Hannibal looks at Will and swoons with affection that softens him promptly, "I already got everything I want in this world."

Will hums to the feather-light touch on his lips, but he raises his hand to block another kiss. He still needs his lips free to ask, "How do you pick your prey?" He chuckles as the wetness and hot from Hannibal's tongue tickling his palm, "I mean, I know you eat the rude, but there's tons of people having no politeness, you remember all of them? And how do you decide whom to eat first?"

Hannibal throws him a mysterious glance before showing him his wheels of recipes and names. Will raises his eyebrows for the thickness of them, he flips the recipes and soon the foreign and unpronounceable dishes sheer his interest to the name cards. He reads them one by one, fingertips touching the edges half-heartedly, amused by the similarity to a ripper's note. Well, it is indeed a killing list of the Ripper. Oh, damn, when did Hannibal's tendency of making terrible puns transmitted to him?

Will sniggers and huffs, his little reaction draws the cannibal to him. Hannibal hugs him from behind and nips his ear to gain back his attention. Possessive.

"Hungry, Will?"

"No." Will pushes off the palm petting his stomach, rolling his eyes, "I'm just finding my own card."

"You won't find it there; you still have not given me your card."

"Lucky me."

"You are not lucky." Hannibal turns him around and kisses him before he can squawk about the manhandling. "You are astonishing."

"And you're terrible." Will laughs at Hannibal's disapproving look and pokes his chest, cocking his eyebrows with expectation. "So, I see the skeleton in your closet now, now more secret between us?"

"I will never put a body in my closet, Will." Hannibal teases back before he takes his hand and promises. "There will be no secret between us. However," a toothy smirk spreads across his face and playfulness sparkle in his irises, "please allow me to have a grey area for surprises for you."

 

 

 

  
The camera flashes, blinding Will's eyes for a moment before they adjust to the dimness of the hotel room again.

Except the sparking instruments, there is only a thread of daylight from the covered windows enters the room, shining upon a naked couple displayed on the bed. Nothing unusual about the female's body, just a regular gutted prey of the Ripper, but the male is something. He gazes at his partner with his empty eye sockets, chest impaled with an arrow, and the flesh of his back flaked and spread on the bed sheet, similar to the victims of the Angel Maker, but more divine than an angel.

"Married couple." Jimmy inspects the hands of both victims, and he pauses when he pries open the female's one. "Ew, there's a melted candle on her palm."

Brian peeps behind him. "The Ripper turned her into a chandelier?"

"You need to put on more than one candle and be hanged on the ceiling to be a chandelier."

"What is that for then? Like a human spot light to light up his work?"

Light.

Will glanced around the room, the tightly drawn curtains, and the off switches. Everything is soaked in the darkness now.

Something is moving in the dark. It is him.  
  
He arrives at the night. He always arrives at the night. In the pitch darkness. In the dark where she cannot see the truth.

He is not a human. But he fell in love with a mortal. It was merely an accident, he blinded and stabs himself with his arrow, and now he is also a victim of his own. A god of love falling in love.

Fearing to let her know his identity, he only visits her in pure darkness. But he completely forgot the mortal is gifted with fire by the old god and the immense curiosity by their king. She lights a fire when he is asleep. And through the veil of darkness, she sees him.

Just like the way he did to Hannibal.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

  
  
Her face is ripped open like the stomach of a gutted fish.

He dragged her down underneath the bad. He had been waiting for her. He knows her. They were intimate. But there was something wrong. With her face. He could not see her face. He needed to remove that mask to see the truth. To see the norm.

But there were only blood and flesh and teeth.

There is blood in his mouth too.

Icy cold and a stretching pain.

His flesh in his cheeks is peeling off. His face is cracking open.

He is smiling through the rift.

The dead woman laughs too. A male voice spills out from her clattering teeth.

See. See.

A face.

The face of Garret Jacob Hobbs appears in his steaming breath.

See. See.

The dead-cold hands pounce and grab his jaw, mauling down and down and down to tear off his jaw, to see what inside him.

The bone drops on the blood-stained floor.

He screams.

"Will? Will!"

The burst door startles all of Will's muscles into freezing, it stops his screaming and shoves him out of his head. He glimpses at Jack and his colleagues surrounding him, all of them are worried but dare not to touch him, as if a slight touch will be enough to shatter him.

Their eyes are showing fear.

There is something wrong with him. They know. _They know._

Will staggers backwards to the wall, reaching to his aching face blindly. Instead of exposed gums and teeth, his fingers lands on his intact cheeks, and the skin of his wrists outside the gloves is not stained by his leaking darkness like he has been worrying. Yet.

"What happened, Will?" Jack asks in a harsh voice, there is no concern, like he is interrogating a suspect.

Will breathes in with tremble and wipes away the sweat dampening his forehead, he puts on his glasses to occlude the glare twinging his face. "Nothing. I just got confused," he clears his throat, but his hoarse voice betrays him.

Jack steps forth and corners him further with stare piercing through his armor. "I've seen you confused and I've seen you upset, but I've never seen you afraid like this."

Will clutches his hands behind him, just wanting to be left alone. "I'm an old hand at fear. I can manage this one. I was just disoriented," He mumbled, but the act of convincing Jack and his scared self is as weak as a thin layer of frost on a lake. He can still feel the biting ice and his flaking flesh.

No. It was just his vivid imagination.

He was just lost in his mind for a moment, like lost in his dreams, nothing concerning. Nothing wrong.

"I heard you screamed," Jack is no relent. "What made you scream?"

"I—I didn't...it was just the usual stuff."

"Will, if you aren't telling me, I'm going to call Hannibal here."

"What?" Will widens his eyes, suddenly forgetting all of his terror.

"I know you don't like to worry anyone, but I'm officially concerned about you."

"Officially," Will mouths it, cannot utter any other sound. Jack has no true concern about him. He is just worried that he can no longer catch criminals for him. He is just troubled that he cannot use him anymore.

"We don't want to break you here." Not now. There are many killers they have not found yet. He will be useless if he is broken. "Is that what's happening? Have I broken you?" Are you useless now?

"Do you have anyone that does this better unbroken than I do broken?" Tolerating the hidden meaning no more, Will rages. It is not the first time he fights back, still it renders Jack blank for a second, before he glares at him with a disappointing look.

"Fear makes you rude, Will. I'm going to ask Hannibal here. He can help you."

He does not need help. Will wants to scream it out loud as Jack turns away to make a call, but he is too frustrated to have spirit for this. Instead he takes off and throws the gloves on the floor, marches outside the house, and sits on the porch with his seething feelings.

It takes quite a while before the familiar purr of the Bentley engine reverberates in the chilly air. Will lets out a breath he had been holding and stands immediately. If he was not aware that he would look like a poor stray, he would already rush into Hannibal's arms now.

Hannibal springs to him, the sincere apprehension is all over his face, and his attire is not as perfect as usual, tie tilted and coat draping askew on his shoulders, making Will wonder if he got a traffic ticket for over-speeding as he drove here.

"Will." Hannibal sighed, holding his cheeks instantly. "Jack called me—"

Will cuts off his speech by leaning to his chest. Half of his anger dissipates for his lover, he just indulges himself for a moment, then straightens up before any investigator passing by can see and pry into their relationship.

"I'm okay now." He gives a grateful and sheepish smile to Hannibal. "Let's go home. Don't want to stay here longer."

 

 

 

  
Will is placed on the couch with a cup of cocoa and a thick blanket warping his shoulders and back. He sighs, "I'm good. I'm not a frightened dog." He adds with a grumble. "At least not now." He reaches for Hannibal's hand patting his hair to invite the man sitting next to him, gaining a new kind of heavy blanket swathing him tightly. He rolls his eyes but eventually snuggles up Hannibal with a sigh. "Sorry that Jack asked you to there asap. There was really no need." He blows on the cocoa, staring at the spreading ripple. "He said his concern about me is just 'official'. He just cares if I can still be his tool." Maybe he can prompt Hannibal to kill Jack.

"And you have the private concern from me now." Hannibal plants a kiss on his pursed lips and ruffles his hair again before inquiring in casual tones, just like asking if he wants to add some marshmallows to his beverage. "What upset you before Jack did, Will?"

Will closes his eyes first, conjuring up the victim onto the coffee table. The dead lies in front of them now, Will can see the flickering flame of the fireplace through the wide gap in her face. "There's a woman's body, cheeks being cut open like the Slit Mouth Woman. The killer started from the corners of her mouth, peeling off her skin like taking off a mask from her face. He wanted to see the reality beneath it. And my face was being cut open too. I felt the pain. I felt the cold hands. I felt the detachment of my flesh and bones."

He repels the body to put down the mug and fumble around his face subconsciously, trying to soothe away the phantom pain that resurfaces for his recall.

"You slipped from the killer's mind to the victim's." Hannibal covers his wrist, Will lets his hand drop and be held by the anchoring warmth.

"No. I've never done that. This time it was...it was like I was also a victim."

"Why would this killer want to seek his reality beneath your face?"

"Not reality. Revenge." Will bites his lips, finally yields under Hannibal's worrying gaze. "It was not the killer. It was Garret Jacob Hobbs."

"From association? Deep inside your mind you still believe eliminating a serial killer is a bad thing?" Hannibal's question shows no mean to berate but amusement. Obviously he is intrigued to see him squirm for the conflict between his desire and morals. Will would throw him side-eye if he had the mood. The chill shiver running in his spine makes his shoulders sag and eyes dart around.

"If it was an imagination like what you say, I could just stop it. But it was out of control. It was real. I—I didn't think that was a hallucination, like there was really a revengeful ghost wanted to torture me to death. I am...I am losing the ability to distinguish what's real and what isn't... I know what kind of crazy I am, but this isn't that kind of crazy." He shakes his head as hard as he tries to reason. "This could be a seizure. This could be a tumor. A blood clot..."

Hannibal makes no comment. Instead he hugs Will nearer to him and presses his nose to Will's neck, the back of the ear, and his hair, inspecting each scent carefully. "There is no illness presenting on you."

"Maybe it's just in an early stage, not strong enough to be detected by you." Though Hannibal claimed his nose is sensitive enough to smell out cancer precisely, Will still feels the credibility of it is similar to checking fever by simply touching the forehead. "I better have a brain scan."

Hannibal looks hurt. "You believe a machine which you do not know how it works rather than my sense."

"What? I'm, I'm not..." Will wants to argue he can also use a computer without the knowledge of how the hardware and the codes work, Hannibal stands up and strides out of the room in an instant, leaving him alone to grouch and pout to himself.

But Hannibal returns as quick as he left. He hands a name card to Will. Will raises his brows, unimpressed. "I don't want you make a human soup for me. Doesn't help, you know."

Hannibal smiles and kisses his cheek. "Dr. Sutcliffe and I were residents together at Hopkins. Our paths diverged; I chose to be a psychiatrist while he became a neurologist."

Will looks up with widened eyes. Hannibal caresses his hair.

 

 

 

  
"So, Will, these headaches." Dr. Sutcliffe's voice draws back his swift eyes. Will swallows, tensed up, the glasses help him nothing, the office is too small and the gaze scrutinizing him is too intense, like he is a rare butterfly being pinned in a board. Adrenaline is pumping in his veins. The doctor appears unaware to his alarm, he continues asking, "When did they begin in earnest?"

"Two to three months ago." Will almost cannot find his answer. His instinct is screaming wrong and danger about the man. The doctor looks nothing strange, but he is eerie. Uncanny.

Hannibal squeezes his shoulder, comforting him. "About the time Will went back into the field, which is when I meet him."

Dr. Sutcliffe glances at Hannibal before turning back to Will. "And the hallucinations?"

"I don't know exactly when they started." Will gazes at his fists on his knees. The stag. The Wendigo. The spirit of the Shrike. All are like his lifelong old friends. "I just slowly became aware that I might not be dreaming."

 

 

 

  
The tunnel of the MRI machine like the maw of a beast engulfs him wholly.

The women with the slit smile hangs above him.

He tries not to scream.

 

 

 

  
Hannibal stares at Will behind the glass without blinking. Sutcliffe's nonchalant question interrupts his contemplation—"So, Cupid is dead now?"

He turns his russet gaze to his acquaintance with reluctance; if he could, he would never let Will out of his sight. "Pardon?"

"Ah, why I remember you once said you would slay and eat him if he dared to shoot you with any of his arrow?" Sutcliffe turns his back to the monitors and regards Hannibal with a clear smugness. A preternatural light gleam in his eyes. "Don't deny, Hannibal. I heard the rumour and saw the besotted way you looked at him. After thousands of millennia, finally there is someone can catch your unattainable heart. I'm really really glad."

Hannibal gives the god a heavy sigh. "Please. Komeda and the others already mocked me with the same words."

Sutcliffe hums and glances through the window, "He is a lovely boy."

"Indeed." Hannibal's chest is suddenly flooded with pride and protectiveness even though Sutcliffe shows no malignant intention about Will.

"Don't give me that creepy look, I am just complimenting your boy." Sutcliffe shrugs. "So, what's wrong with your love? I don't have have a keen sense like you, but it seems to me that there is nothing serious on him."

"That is exactly what I have been telling Will. Yet he insists to have a scan, blaming his own brain for all the 'unreal' things he has witnessed." Hannibal has no argument that is reasonable to Will's ears. He can only consent.

"Wait...I noticed his eyes are piercing, like crystal and mirror, staring at me like he knows I am not a human at the first sight. Is he a clairvoyant?"

"Perhaps. He said he keeps seeing the dead, but he cannot tell if they are his imaginations or real."

Sutcliffe stares at him. "He doesn't know about our world."

He shakes his head. "He has little belief in us."

"Hmm, not a surprise to me." Sutcliffe gestures vaguely to the computers, the MRI tube, and the whole room. "This is their religion now. The Big Bang is the Light, equations are the creeds, and electron and quarks are the gods."

"The mortals have never stopped to believe. They just apply for a new way to worship, only with no brutal offering."

"Don't pretend. We both know you love brutality." Sutcliffe sniggers and turns back to the monitors, voice amused and challenging, "Now, let's see who wins: the old god or the lifeless machine."

 

 

 

 

"We didn't find anything abnormal."

The result strikes Will hard. He looks up abruptly, trying to search for anything the doctor missed on his brain scan, however—"No vascular malformations, no tumors. No swelling or bleeding. No evidence of stroke. Nothing wrong with you neurologically."

"So...what I'm experiencing is psychological?" Will mutters expressionless. His nails pinch his palms, he does not care, there is a much more serious problem in his mind.

"Brain scans can't diagnose a mental disorder." Dr. Sutcliffe's voice fades into white noise. "They can only rule out medical illnesses, like a tumor, that can cause similar symptoms."

He knows. He knows. He knows.

"Look, we'll do some more tests. Take some blood samples, but I imagine they'll be just as inconclusive." The doctor adds, not helping either.

 

 

 

  
Will calls him, panting, panicking, slurring unfathomable words of "arm", "skin", and "ghost", there is even a whine sobs between his frantic breath. Hannibal wants to appear in front of Will immediately to soothe and protect his love from whatever scared him, but that would only frighten Will more with his inhuman speed. He gets into his car and rushes to Delaware with the dial overlapping the mark of the highest speed allowed.

Will is curling up before the house again. He raises his arm to shield the headlights, a hint of waver is shown in his gloved fingers. His face is much paler in the chilly night.

"I'm not entirely sure what I saw was real." He shakes his head when Hannibal tries to take off his coat for him, pointing at a pile of softness a feet behind him.

Hannibal tilts his head with curiosity and draws nearer to examine. It looks like a sheet of loose rubber, but with concerning colour and smell. Human skin. No blood. Fresh and decaying.

Getting more interested for the outlandish pile, Hannibal looks back to Will, wondering how the profiler found a large strip of human skin here.

"I grabbed her arm and an entire layer of dead skin separated from the underlying tissue... like she was wearing a glove," Will stares at his hand with half disbelief and half nausea.

"That scared you," Not minding the dirt at all, Hannibal sits next to Will and brings the lean body into his arms.

Will nods. "It was dim. She just suddenly jumped out, and she looked like a monster. Eyes discoloured. Malnourished. Jaundiced. Deranged." Clearly being alone an hour in the silent forest let Will recollect his sharp mind. "She mutilated a woman's face because she thought it was a mask. She can't see faces. If she did kill Beth LeBeau, she might not even know she did it."

"Why did her come back?" Hannibal combs Will's curls and removes a pine needle from them.

"To convince herself she didn't do it."

"And why you came back? It is very dangerous to wander around at night alone, especially in a crime scene where the killer would visit again." And especially in a forest where the evil fairies and man-eating monsters lurk.

"I don't know...I just felt like I needed to do something."

His mongoose is always restless. Hannibal sighed internally for remembering Will's tendency of pacing around and fidgeting anything his hands can reach when he is under stress. "You want to convince yourself the ghost you saw is not real."

Will presses his lips together, the pause shows his subsequent words are only a defensive lie. "I just want to find the killer."

Hannibal chooses not to burst it.

Will looks him in his eyes. "She ran into the woods. I tried to find her. She was just gone. Help me to find her, Hannibal, she needs help, she is just sick, a sickness that can be cured." Unlike what he is suffering. The unspoken words resonate in the air along with the scent of desperation.

"Please."

With those doe-eyes looking at him, how can Hannibal refuse.

He stands up and walks back to the pile, brimming with giddiness for this rare opportunity to impress Will with his superlative sense and hoping his love will not be dubious about his ability again.

He does not blame Will for the distrust. Like all mortals today, Will grew up in the substantiated theories and immutable facts with the frightful monsters and unspeakable gods only existing in bedtime stories. The mortals have not lost their faith, merely shifting it to another aspect. And Hannibal just wants Will to trust him more.

He suspires silently and kneels down to bring the stratum of skin to his nose, analyzing the smells beside the retained ones from Will and the wood floor, but Will suddenly yells at him, just like shouting at a delinquent dog rummaging in a trash bin for scraps—"Hannibal drop that down! That's very disgusting!"

Hannibal hums and pretends Will's screech is lost in the strong winds. He inhales again before placing the fresh back and straightening up, and he turns his nose to the air. Among the sea of black cherry, red maple, and oak; the mature berries and acorns; and the grass smothered under the snow, the conspicuous odour of the sickened girl paves a vibrant path like a road lit by throng of fireflies towards the woods.

Hannibal goes back to Will, who already stood up and raised a brow to him. He only smiles and nudges his back, "Come, mongoose, before the smell evanescences in the unceasing winds."

But Will is unbudged, gaping at him for a few seconds before bursting out laughter. "What, ha, what... I just expected you would help me look around and find some footprints I missed. And not this—not to sniff out her like a beagle." He scrubs the grin away from his face under the unamused look of Hannibal, but a chuckle still sweeps through his lips.

Hannibal takes a breath to feign that he takes offence at the words. He would be affronted by being compared with a dog, but Will sees his pack as his family; this is a pure compliment. "I thought you would see me as a German Shepherd."

"How about a Bloodhound?" Will gives him a side glance, and those sweetly curved lips earn a light kiss from him. A lovely tone of pink tints the mongoose's cheeks. "Hmm, find the girl first."

"Turn on your flashlight." Hannibal reminds as they steps pass the tree line. Having no difficulty treading in a night woods, he is only concerned that his mongoose may trip over the stones or the fallen branches hidden in the dark he cannot see through. Mortals are very fragile, after all.

Will still stumbles a bit while following him closely, having no clue about where they are heading towards but with a complete trust that it seems he would not even suspect a thing if Hannibal had a plan to lure him into the deepest part of the forest and eat him alive.

A roguish hum leaves Hannibal's throat, making Will eyed him with a frown. "You're thinking something bad," he says in flat tones.

Hannibal uncovers his smile. "I believe you are familiar with the stories of a witch creating a house made of breads and candies to snare children who lost in the forest, and the wolf that can mimic human voice to coax the naive prey into putting their heads near to his waiting jaw. It is unwise to follow a monster into the woods, my dear Will."

Will snorts. "What is our fairy tale says about us then?"

"Well, once upon a time..." Hannibal just means to tease back, but the expectation sparkling in Will's eyes inspire him to continue. "There was a monster living in darkness for thousands of years. Though being immortal, he had one weakness, his vulnerable heart which he had kept well and was frozen for this long period of loneliness. He had no interest to find someone special to thaw it. However, one day, a beautiful mortal stumbled into his path—"

"Wait, I'm still a boring ordinary man in a fairy tale?"

Hannibal hums like celebrating it. "You can be a mongoose."

Will huffs. "I still don't get why you keep calling me a mongoose."

"You are cute."

Evidently not foreseeing Hannibal will say in such a direct way, Will goes speechless for a moment with only his eyelashes fluttering, his cheeks suffuse with pinkness. "How...how being cute related to a mongoose?" He mumbles in a daze, the innocent expression tempts Hannibal to his lips. He wants to protest out of shyness, but the doctor shushes him and signals him to remain there.

Hannibal steps forth slowly. The girl is near. The bitterness of fear is waving in the air.

He takes another step to the brushes a few feet ahead of them, the sudden crackle of a snapped twig beneath his shoes startles the girl into escaping. He suppresses the urge rose from the fleeing to hunt her down, while Will rushes pass him and springs towards, calling out: "You're alive. If you can hear me, you're alive!"

The rustling sound from the foliage is muted abruptly, only the ripples of Will's call echo between the trees.

Hannibal strides and finds Will kneeling down before the emaciated girl, who is curling up on the forest floor and tenses as he appears in her view. Though discoloured, her eyes are like silver reflecting truth. Interesting.

 

 

 

  
They treat her like a burnt victim and placed her in an oxygenated box, as if breeding an ornamental bird in a serene garden, or caring a sleeping princess in a glass coffin. Beautiful. Innocent. She is sick. It was only the sickness controlling her to take a life. She is innocent. Nothing like the nefarious monsters he catches. Nothing like him.

Will looks at her through his ghostly image on the glass, almost longingly. "Georgia," he calls softly as the girl climbs up and glanced around for some imaginary shadows she fears that will follow him into the room. He waits till she decides there is no need to fret. "Remember me?"

"I remember your voice. You are the man told me I am alive," Georgia replies, her words seem to be much more articulate after the treatments, alleviating Will's worry.

"They say what's wrong with you?"

"No. They didn't find anything. They won't." She gazes down at her bandaged arm and touches the clothing, probably reminding herself the cruel reality. "They'll keep looking and keep giving you tests and false diagnosis and bad medicine. But they won't find anything wrong." She glances up to him and looks through his eyes, spilling the curse they share, "They'll just know you're wrong."

Will swallows for it. He just did another scan. Nothing. And he saw Garret Jacob Hobbs again.

"They're going to give me shock treatment." Georgia continues in a mutter, "Electroconvulsive therapy is what they called it, but shock treatment sounds nicer."

Will does not care an intimidate title. He envies that she can at least have a treatment.

What is the cure for insanity?

More madness.

"People who have what you have can recover with it."

"Know how many times I've been told I would recover with some kind of treatment?" Georgia huffs, the exhaustion weaken her voice. "They say I might remember what I did. But I don't want to remember. It feels more like some horrible dream where I killed my friend."

Not knowing how to reply, Will mulls it over for a while, finally permits himself to raise the question: "Did you find what you wanted under her face?"

The response comes after a few seconds. "I saw her face after she was dead."

Will scowls in confusion. "Can you see faces now?"

She shakes her head and reaches to soothe her hair, fingers clasping them with unnecessary force. "They are still blurted. Some are glowing. And a few like you..."

"Like...me?"

An indescribable cold makes Will bristle instantly. He tenses up as Georgia places her hand on the glass and leans to meet his eyes. He cannot tell why, her eyes are clear and piercing, pinning through his body and mind. He cannot move. He is exposed.

"You are dark." The whisper swifts into his ears like a sacred oracle. "Covered by crude. A night sky. An endless abyss."

"I must look terrifying."

"You are not. The thing with you that night is."

"The thing?" Is—is she referring to Hannibal? "What did you see?"

Georgia glances to search the room again before beckoning him to get nearer. She mutters to him like a little child that is afraid of the dark, "A coal-dark monster with deer antlers."

  
 


	9. Chapter 9

  
  
Heart, kidney, stomach, and spleen dangle from the whitened branches like gleaming ornaments on a Christmas tree. Will narrows his eyes.

Leaning on the wall with arms crossed over the shallow movements of his chest, he stares at the photographs projected at the far end of the conference room with a blank expression. His teeth grind, producing a silent chirping of a cat stalking its prey.

"Transplant Surgeon." He forces his thought back to Jack's brief. " Convicted first degree in the murders of his wife and her family. Institutionalized at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where he murdered a nurse and claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper."

A tasteless impostor.

Putting this pig's name into the same sentence with the Ripper can already dishonour Hannibal's name.

Gideon is free now. Free from the control of anyone, acting on his own free will to seek the Chesapeake Ripper. It is great. Walking straight into the beast's mouth.

But Will doubts the pork from an impious pig would taste good even in Hannibal's table.

"Dr. Gideon escaped this morning after killing two police transport officers and a hospital attendant. He is armed and dangerous."

The lights above him flick. And flick. And again. Vibrating, buzzing, freezing. But all the agents are enthralled by the speech; no one notices it.

Will exhales out a hazy mist, the subsequent intake of air frosts over his throat and lungs. He pulled his jacket closer to his body, but the cold disregard the layers, prickling his skin and soaking him in the polar seas. The fluorescent tubes continue buzzing and buzzing and buzzing, his heart beats and his brain throbs with the rapid frequency. Forest of antlers erupts from all the walls, reaching out and enclosing him within his short breath of brume.

The ghost pops out in his view.

He recoils to the wall, eyes closed in reflex, but the world just shifts back to normal at the exact moment he is not looking like a discreet act of a magic trick.

He pants. He pushes back the glasses that slid down the bridge of his nose and wipes away the cold sweat on his pale face.

Jack's gaze dashes upon him across the room. He hides his distress behind the glasses.

He can only talks about his craziness with Hannibal.

"What happened?" Hannibal grooms Will's fringe as he throws himself onto the chaise just after entering the office. The clinical hand covers Will's forehead, soothing and checking the heat.

"Am I having a fever?" Will asks in a grumble, leaning to the palm that fondles his cheek now. He eyelids feel heavy and the ceiling above them spins.

"No. You are healthy."

He hates hearing it. How ironic.

"What did you see, Will?"

Will pinches his bows. "A thicket of antlers." He glances at Hannibal's head secretly, still has not figured out Georgia's words haunting his mind. Antlers. The Ripper. The Wendigo. How did she know it? Why would she know the way he sees Hannibal?

Part of the curiosity in Hannibal's eyes converts into worry, Will shakes it off and continues, "And my heart dim but fast, like footsteps fleeing into silence."

Hannibal's hand leaves his cheek, an odd question comes to him when he sighs for the lost—"Have you noticed if these hallucinations occur at a particular time of day?"

Will frowns as he cannot fathom the implication behind it. "Usually later in the day, at night. When I'm alone." The stag is fine, its appearance even settles him in his wild dreams. And the Wendigo is the reflection of Hannibal and his beast, it is not a problem too. It is Garret Jacob Hobbs. The spiteful ghost gives him no space to breathe.

He rubbed his sore eyes threatening to seal tightly, and Hannibal postulates, after a thoughtful moment he finally says: "The ghost starts to be powerful enough to appear in crowd under daylight."

Will clutches his jaw. "I feel like I'm losing myself...like Abel Gideon."

"You have me as your anchor, Will," Hannibal promises on his lips. "Though Gideon has none, except psychiatrists eager to inspect and shape his mind into whatever they want. Tests. Therapies. Telling him who he is and who he isn't. I imagine Abel Gideon would want to find the Chesapeake Ripper to gauge who he truly is and who he isn't." Expectations lies under his tones, eliciting a twisted smile on Will's face.

"Will you give him the answer?"

"Answer would not make the meat tastier."

"Even with your sophisticated culinary skills, I don't think you can make any gourmet dish from a tasteless pig," his response sounds like echo of Hannibal's voice.

"Let's see, Will," Hannibal peeks his dimple and shows a smile full of teeth.

 

 

 

  
The man collapses on the chair with his head leaning back, revealing the displaced tongue growing from his airway to the collar bestowed with dry red spots. A bunch of bulging blood packs rest in ice pieces like newly-caught fish. "Please deliver to the Red Cross." The note under the cooler reminds them.

"He's peacocking for the Ripper," Jack says it out loud.

Will tightens his fists in disdain—he probably should thank Gideon for making him totally disgusted for a corpse for the very first time if he is not irked as well—words sweep through his teeth like silent warning of a poisonous snake, "This is like flowers and chocolate before a first date." Don't even think about it. His beast screams. Hannibal is mine. Mine.

 

 

 

  
As Hannibal opens the front door, Will wastes no time and lunges at him, lips seeking his desperately, which makes him beam and embrace Will immediately, welcoming the sudden lovely passion. But Will shows no arousal scent, and his movement is unceremonious, he grasps Hannibal's hair and bites his lips wildly, as if wanting to tear everything with his teeth.

Hannibal sighs, he caresses Will's nape and kisses back with tenderness, using the gentle touches to soothe his temperamental mongoose.

Will eventually releases Hannibal as they both struggle to breath with their grazed lips. He shifts to clutch at Hannibal's lapels, looking straight at him with pupils blown on his roiling seas.

"I want to kill him." He throws out a baleful warning. No, not really a warning, also not ask for permission. He is going to kill. Only needs a suitable circumstance and a little push.

Hannibal purred in delight. "Who dared to upset you, my dear?"

"Abel Gideon," Will says in a way as if the name is a repugnant reek which will stain his tongue. Hannibal has the same thought. And it would be perfect if Will could only call and know his name.

He tugs up a smile. "What has he done?"

"You saw that on the web."

"He just killed a psychiatrist."

"That is another gift for you." Flame squeezes out from Will's teeth and he grabs Hannibal's clothes harder. "You are mine."

"I'm yours, Will, as you are mine. Forever."

Hannibal proves it by kissing him, bringing him to bed, and taking him throughout. Will whines and cries his name, hands grabbing him without letting go a second. Hannibal uses kisses and grazes to relieve his anxiety, patting Will's hair until those fluttering lashes cover Will's misty eyes. He chants a soundless spell in a soft kiss on Will's forehead, a stalwart and innocuous magic lulling Will to sleep, the one he uses to protect Will from nightmares every time he sleeps beside him.

He watches the empath between the golden branches, which do not hide his antlers and dark fur successfully from Will's eyes. Will beckons to him with a bashful smile, enticing him to stride across the bed of pebbles and wade the river to reach Will, who chuckles for his nudging snout.

Hannibal lets his lover hug him and muffle his feathers. Will carries on fishing and throws a lure into the glittering water with his name called softly. A large trout hops out of the water without hesitation.

He puffs to the grinning boy, and with one more smitten glance, he leaves the scenery quietly. He tugs Will in and does not forget to give a kiss before he descends to the basement for a wheel of his collection of cards. The names flash and stop for his thumb. Touching the ink, Hannibal envisions a view, a man with his tongue pulled out from his slayed throat, holding a fresh bouquet of Sweet William. An invitation to a dinner party, to both predator and prey.

 

 

 

  
Will feels the weight of his gun and hunting knife hidden on him. He steps onto the deserted beach, listening closely to the incessant waves and the faint breaking of shells beneath his feet in the nearly-complete darkness. His heart beats as steadily as he takes each step.

Perhaps in another world where he was not led astray, did not find out Hannibal's identity, or smothered his darkness right after it hatched, he would just tell Jack go here to catch Gideon red-handed, instead of letting the team argue pointlessly whether the similar corpse is a work of Gideon or the Ripper while he comes unescorted and armed to hunt the pig down.

He accepted the invitation right away when he saw the scarlet flowers on the body. Really, who can decline such a lovely invitation.

The stage is prepared. The game is on. His beast is ready to bound.

Part of him wanted Hannibal beside him at this moment, but he understands the killer wants him to finish it on his own, to prove that his wings are well grown and he is ready to be a hunter. Hannibal will watch him somewhere. Probably amongst the woods.

Saving a smile to himself, Will continues the patrol. The wisps of cloud waft and a veil of light pours onto the center of the sand, illuminating a contour of a man lying there motionless. Will glances around and picks up the pace, with no surprise finding the eviscerated body adorned with flowers belongs to Frederick Chilton whose disrespect towards Gideon and the Ripper attracted anger from both of them. Another gift.

Will snorts and jerks up his head for a sudden weak sound, he finds no sign of human but a wreath of unmistakable antlers between the trees. Not waiting for him to stop staring and pinch his thigh for a sense of reality, the nightmare stag huffs a fog and turns its solemn head towards the woods.

Will blinks, the stag is still there waiting for him. It wheezes again and twists its ears with not much patience. He stumbles forth and follows the guide with hesitation.

The stag trails him as he steps across the tree line, and it flares its nostrils when they come across a vague shade turning their side to them.

Maybe he just saw Will sauntering on the beach, Gideon treats him with no fear and does not even turn to look at him, as if the sea deserves his attention more than Will does. How rude.

"I was expecting the Chesapeake Ripper. Or are you him?"

Hand twiddling the knife, Will says no word. Answer could not season the meat anyway.

The pig cannot even keep his mouth silent. "Are you satisfied with my present for you?"

Present. What a flagrant pomposity. It is only another shameless plagiarism. The Birth of Venus is the first love letter Hannibal wrote to Will. How dare him.

Gideon turns to Will for the continued silence which is immediately broken by a faint thud of blade hitting the ground. Will lunges.

He strikes right at Gideon's face, the momentum sends the unprepared man into staggering backwards. Will does not wait for the prey to recover from the shock, he slams Gideon's skull to a tree and adds another punch. The man falls onto the forest floor like an wing-broken bird having only the strength to tremble and cry, earning a briskly grin from the predator looming astride him.

"Who do you think you are? " Will puts his whole body weight in the pounding on the other side of the skull. Blood spilled from Gideon's head and his grazed knuckles mingles and splatters over the snow, like tiny buds blooming in the spring and notes of a requiem.

"You're only a pig." Will strikes and grabs and twists, the broken sound echoes through the woods like a miserable shriek of knell, then all are dull and replaced by the constant whispers of wave and wind and the static breath of his own.

Will stands in tremble of the rushing euphoria, having quite a hard time to believe how easy it is to destroy a life. With a laugh, he looks over his shoulder for praise form the stage where there is only monotonous view of trees left.

The slowly appearing throb of his wounded hand and the cold bring his mind back from the glee to the disfigured face and the flowering blood below him.

After a pensive while, he steps aside and retrieves the forgotten knife. He returns to his car for a thermal box to gather the stained snow, which is subsequently locked back with the corpse. He hides Chilton's body in a vehicle presumably stolen by Gideon which he found nearby after he fed the flowers to the sea. It can buy him some time, when Jack finally figures out they need to check the place where the Ripper first exhibited Sweet William with corpse, the waves and the snow will already cover the traits for him.

Nothing suspicious left, the world is as silent as an uneventful night. Will gets back into his car and turns on the radio, hoping the dead man will appreciate the music. He buckles up with a clear destination in his mind, glancing at the back mirror out of habit, expecting a pure darkness with shadowy outline of the tree on it, but there is a pale figure. Garret Jacob Hobbs smiles to him.

He turns his head instantly but faces the empty back seat.

White noises interrupt the music. He turns back warily.

The ghost swoops down on the front window.

He yelps and kicks the pedal, the car sprints and brings him crash through the spirit colder than a cloud of hail.

He fumbles for the heater, but it is broken as the blaring radio, filing the whole space with unbearable cold that will soon pave white crystals all over the windows and his skin. He shifts to the windows, there is also no hope, they lock tightly like his brain trapping him in his nightmares regardless how much he pleads.

It is a dream. It is just a dream.

He presses the pedal harder and harder, driving the car to accelerate with his heartbeats. A faint figure sparkles beside the road. He forces himself not to stare.

It is just a dream. Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. It is a dream. It will end soon. Don't fret. Your name is Will Graham. This is 9:38 p.m.. You are in Maryland. You just killed a man and have a bad dream again. You will wake up. Wake up.

Will repeats and tries to focus on each word, not thinking the endless darkness ahead and the ghost chasing him. Eons pass outside the windows, the lights from the city finally rise at the horizon, the cold thaws in the warm air filled with brisk rhythm, but soon after he enters the city, the streetlights around his car start flicking, the abnormalities threaten to strike back.

Come on, come on. He turns the wheel and pulls over the radio screams in unrecognizable shrieks, stumbling out before the doors glue in the rising frost. Not daring to look back, he rushes to the oasis-like house, the light on the pouch twinkles for his arrival, he slips into a pure panic and knocks beggingly.

The door eventually opens. Will dashes inside.

"Will?"

He whirls around. Garret Jacob Hobbs stands right behind Hannibal.

"Stop following me!" He beseeches. The lights in the mud room response him with a blink. He scrambles to the hallway with the cold and the darkness following him into the dinning room like an inextricable shadow.

It is not real. It is not real.

The lights here buzz too.

Garret Jacob Hobbs flashes at the head of the table.

Will draws out his gun.

But he knows it is useless.

There is nothing there. It is only in his head.

"Will." Hannibal catches up and covers his hand.

"I'm losing my mind." Will grabs Hannibal's lapel and sobs in desperation. The ghost laughs at his pain and the light smacks his face with no mercy. "I don't know what is real anymore."

"What do you see, Will?"

"Garret Jacob Hobbs." He glances at the smirking ghost and looks back in welling tears. "What do you see?" He asks, but it is rather an appeal, pleading for an anchor, pleading Hannibal would tell him the same, tell him he is not crazy.

Hannibal vaguely glimpses at the chair he is pointing at, his expression is inscrutable under the recurring shadows. "Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. You killed him. You watched him die."

Will shakes his throbbing head and covers his ear, not letting the terrifying words get into his mind. "He's right there," he wields his gun, finger shuddering on the trigger, but too afraid to let it burst his last hope.

"Will." The firm call comes with a hand pressing his arm down. "There is nothing that can be expelled by a bullet."

There is nothing there.

The chairs move and scratch the floor.

There is nothing there.

"You are lying. You swore there'll be no more lie between us." Will chokes for the gun and the reality slipping away from his weak grip. He is not even sure if Hannibal is real now... "What's wrong with me..."

"There is nothing wrong with you, beloved." Hannibal shushes as he shakes his head again, cupping his cheeks with gentle caresses. "You are scared because you do not understand. But I promise, everything is going to be fine."

Will only whimpers, he does not need more beguiling lies.

Hannibal kisses his forehead sweetly before releasing him and turning around. The lights are all off. Darkness casts on Hannibal. His demeanour is suddenly sharpened into an intimidating aura that takes away Will's breath.

Hannibal glares right at his hallucination.

"What a pity soul. You could choose to leave with your death. And now, there is only the inferno waiting for you."

His eyes glow in the dark, igniting fire on the ghost.

Garret Jacob Hobbs screams with his face distorted in shock and the blazing flame bursting out from his skin and orifices. Though still relentless with revenge, he sprints forwards, but the soaring fire devour his legs before he can burn them with his torched body. He slumps onto the ground, like a pile of salt rupturing into thousands of flaming pieces burnt out in the dark without even leaving a powder of ash.

The world stops vibrating. The lights flick and return back to constant. The cold dissipates in the warmth. Hannibal paces back to Will, his eyes dim and soft as always.

His words should be telling Will he had a nightmare or an episode, instead they convey a fond sighed. "You tend to attract dark things, Will."

Dumbfounded, Will cannot even comprehend what just happened in front of his eyes, the only thing he can manage is maintaining his panting.

Hannibal speaks nonsense again while brushing away his curls and sweat clinging on his forehead. "Some mortals are clairvoyants, commonly known as mediums or psychics. Though less likely, the psychic powers can be gained outside bloodline, like the Angel Maker and the girl you saved in the woods, they both appear to have powerful abilities to look into souls, perhaps only from different perspectives.

"Most of the natural clairvoyants carry their power since they were born, but some only develop it in their adulthood. You are a late bloomer, Will. The dead are easily to be drawn to you. Perhaps you inherited this affinity from your mother? Did she mention anything about ghosts or other monsters?"

Will brushes off Hannibal's hand and swallows hard in vain attempt to understand any of the words. "You're not real, or—or you're as crazy as I am."

"You are not crazy or sick. You were haunted." Hannibal ignores his evasion and pats his hair again. "Originally I also thought the Shrike you saw was merely an image from you association, but after hearing his increasing appearance and the odd sounds you heard, I am convinced that it was a ghost. I asked you to draw salt lines to protect your house, but you did not believe me."

It was a ghost scratching his chimney?

Will palms his forehead, the adrenaline subsides, bringing a strange dizziness to him that his head will fall off from his neck anytime. "I wanna sit down," he slurs and flops down onto a chair. Hannibal rubs his shoulder and asks him if he wants a drink. "Don't go." It is the first thing that comes to his mind.

"He will not come back." Hannibal kisses away his fear, then leaves him with a more bizarre line. "I banished him to hell."

Will gawks at Hannibal's back, then his hands, then the seat having no pale spirit now. Maybe he is not the crazy one. The world is.

Hannibal returns with a cup and a whole bottle of whiskey which is not even enough to help Will cope with the "reality"—or whatever it is. Will gulps down a shot at once and slams down the glass. "So, my nightmares, hallucinations, moving things, blinking lights, screaming radio, and frosting windows were the ghost of Garret Jacob Hobbs haunting me?"

"Your nightmares could be due to your stress, but, yes, a vengeful spirit has the ability of doing these kinds of infliction," Hannibal refills the glass as Will watches and bites his lips, at least the taste of the liquid is real enough.

"Okay. If—if—all these were real, and if you could burn or kick the ghost into hell, why didn't you just, eh, exorcise him earlier?"

"I hate to see you suffer, Will." Hannibal continues despite Will's snort, "Unfortunately, ghosts are in fact a relatively tricky problem. They are invisible to most beings and can only be seen by the person they haunt at first. Most of them will perish soon, but a few who bear copious resentment or unfinished wishes can stay and grow strong. Only when they are strong enough to induce physical damage, they can be seen by naked eyes and destroyed."

Will stares through the golden hue in the glass. Hannibal is pleased to be his mentor of the supernatural world; his empathy is intact and working properly, but he cannot see through the world that splintered and molded into something mad.

"Ghosts don't exist." He tries weakly, even though he has no solid evidence to support his statement. "They shouldn't exist. They...they are just the fictional monsters in films and books."

"Why will you deny the existence of a thing which you have already seen with your own eyes more than several times?"

He once laughed at Jack behaving like a caveman, and now he feels like he is as blind as he is. Will purses his lips, getting a chuckle and a strokes on his cheek.

"Since the Titan gave you the fire and saved you from the threat of the beasts, you have moved away from the forests and settled in wherever the fire burn, now wherever the electricity spark. You forget the beasts in the darkness which you should be afraid of."

The mask on Hannibal's face is lowered, the maroon irises looking at him grow as bright as molten gold. Will does not know why he never thought it should not be a normal colour on a human being. It is so beautiful that a mundane being would never have.

He reaches to Hannibal's cheekbone, finding himself out of breath for the ethereal beauty. He asks with the innocence of a lamb facing teeth and talons, "What are you?

Narrowing the striking eyes, the Other beams. "What do you deem I am, beloved?"

"Definitely not human. I don't know." Will is having difficulty to concentrate when Hannibal's gaze is hooking and dazing him. It is an alarming sign, given the stories of the luring will-o'-the-wisp and the deathly fair ring undoubtedly exist somewhere outside, but the attraction resembles the pulling urge one faces when standing on the verge of a cliff, dangerous but irresistible.

Hannibal lowers his gaze, just on time to prevent Will from suffocating. He pushes the whiskey into Will's hand, "Drink it first."

"Wanna get me drunk?" Sadly, whiskey or any other drink cannot compare with Hannibal whom he is already intoxicated for.

"I do not want to scare you."

Will glances up to Hannibal whose eyes are back to the usual brownish colour and face having only the familiar chiseled features and no unearthly incongruity, trying to picture the monster behind the human suit—really a human suit. He chokes out a laugh, "I guess I can't call you a cannibal now. You're not eating your kind."

Hannibal hums with a quirked eyebrow.

"Gosh." Will rolls his eyes. "Of course you eat your kind."

"I prefer human flesh." Hannibal tugs his grazed hand to his mouth, he sniffs and laps the wounds with a moan. "Sweeter. Softer."

Will shifts slightly, the sight of a man-eating monster sucking and biting his knuckles is too arousing to him. He draws back slowly so Hannibal will not misinterpret it as a rejection, eyeing at the wounds healing at an unnatural rate. "I killed Abel Gideon before I came here."

"I know. I watched over you."

Will thinks of the stag. It was also not a hallucination?

He glimpses at Hannibal's forehead, again seeing nothing. "Georgia...you said she is a clairvoyant? I visited her earlier, she said she had seen antlers on you."

"Do you want to see them?"

Oh, god. That is real too.

Will nods.

"Drink it first." Hannibal nods to his glass, which he only puts back on the table with a shake of his head.

"I want to stay sober enough to convince myself I'm not dreaming."

Hannibal watches him rubbing his face with amusement. "I cannot give you the sense of reality?"

"No, not in this aspect. You are...you are something else." Will grunts for not finding a suitable description.

"Come with me." Hannibal leads him upstairs with a hand stroking his back, like soothing a frightened prey to reduce the bitterness of the meat.

Will twists his lips. "You're planning to eat me, right? You monster."

"Do you know how to define a monster, Will? Is a cat with claws and super senses that can hunt thousands of rodents and birds a monster? Are you mortals with the superior intelligence that can wipe out countless lives monsters? Are gods monsters?"

"I don't know. Enlighten me."

"I am afraid I do not have the answer either. A monster can be worshipped as a god. A god can be malicious as a monster. All depends on your view. You name us whatever you want." They stop in front of the bedroom, Will looks up, Hannibal is staring at him keenly with his eyes blazing in the darkness. "Names are powerful, like yours, my sweet Will."

Will grins and sets foot in the beast's lair. "And what do they call you?"

"Oh, I have many names."

Kisses scorch his scuff, and a pair of strong arms lift him up as he shrieks in surprise, carrying him to the center of the room, laying him on the bed like a feast to the beast.

Hannibal alights a kiss on his parted lips. "Are you ready?"

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!  
> Monster sex/Forest sex.

   
Will closes his eyes, trying to gather the pieces of his sanity— _this is Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Will Graham. Not sure what time it is, but the man I love just told me there is a hidden monster world out there and he is going to take off his human skin_ —and he finds there is so need to have it now since the world is way more insane than he is.

He nods, expecting Hannibal to kiss him more. But the weight on the bed shifts away. Will snaps open his eyes.

Hannibal straightens himself and starts taking off his jacket, tie, and the waistcoat. Will crawls up with a confused frown, though he does not mind seeing the broad chest being exposed to him slowly. "Should I suspect that you're only luring me into your bed?"

"Changing into either of my true forms will tear the clothes, please understand." Hannibal pecks his temple and resumes the work until there is no disguise on his body.

Prepared to witness any grotesque change with anticipation, Will eyes him closely while putting a lot of effort to prevent his gaze drift downwards.

"You can look at any place you want, Will."

The smile is not the only thing creeping up on Hannibal's face, he bends down with the soaring darkness, and there is barely a transforming phase, what stands in front of Will now is the enormous stag clothed in ink feathers, puffing and twisting its ears as he gapes and pinches his thigh in an attempt to burst the dream. But the stag remains there, looking at him with the familiar amusement.

"It was you!" Will jumps up in the epiphany. "I should have known that. Keep peeking my dream and snuggling with me, of course that was you!"

Hannibal huffs to Will's protest, unable to speak in this from, he shows his affection by nuzzling and licking Will's cheek, as if he was caring for his own fawn.

Will beams and nudges the snout slightly for the over-passionate act, the fluff beneath his palms is softer than cloud, with scents of dew and sun. He traces up to Hannibal's forehead, carefully explores the impressive antlers and scratches his ears, then drapes down to miss the feathers adorning his neck like mane of a tiger.

Hands back to stroking his jaw, Will steps back to look into the stag's eyes. "You're not scary," he whispers on Hannibal's snout with a fond chuckle. "Show me your other facet."

The muscles under his touch tense up, though the stag lifts up his head instead of aiming the antlers to Will. The tension aggravates as Hannibal incarnates himself back with tinge of fear excluding in his intense gaze.

"I won't hurt you." Will reveals a reassuring smile, a bit surprised that he is the one saying it. "I don't have antlers like you, and there's no..." He pats his pocket but he forgot the sharpness inside. He smiles embarrassed as he pulls out the hunting knife and disposes of it on the nightstand. "Okay, no weapon on me. Don't fret." He turns back and reaches out to Hannibal's cheek, meeting his ruby gaze.

Hannibal tilts his head with eyes closed, he kisses his palm and signs. "You have no idea of how much pain you could inflict on me, how much control you have over me. You hold my heart."

Will recalls the fairy tale Hannibal told him. The iced heart. The vulnerable heart.

"I trust you, Hannibal." _Will you return the courtesy?_

Hannibal's irises ignite again under the long lashes. "Show me yourself first, my love. No more cover between us tonight."

"Quid pro quo?" Will is happy to obey.

Learning no tidiness of folding and placing clothes on the bedroom bench from Hannibal, he tosses his jacket on the rug while kicking away his shoes and socks in the way Hannibal always finds rude but too adorable to chide.

"Have you let anyone see you before?" Considering his lover might not be able to speak again, he asks as he peels off his flannel.

"The mortals see me mostly by unintentional glimpse when I hunt. Though we cannot hide our true form from powerful clairvoyants."

Will pauses a bit before he pulls down his pants and boxers. "What is your kind exactly? Nightmare deer?"

Hannibal chuckles and fondles Will's check, his nails seem to be scraping his skin. "We are not alike. Only being generalized into a same term."

"Like...?" Will fixates at the reemerging darkness staining Hannibal's skin into a starless sky.

"Eldritch." The crown of antlers loom over him. "Those wicked born in darkness and pain."

The veil of night cloaks Hannibal entirely, he grows much broader and stronger in the dark, and he stands on deer hooves, gaining at least a feet higher than Will. His talons trace into Will's curls. He stares at Will with his iridescent eyes, but they harbour fear like they belonged to a skittish animal.

Still blinkless, Will edges near to the beast. He touches the solid chest with faint uncertainty, the skin is smooth and chill like an autumn river, pressing against his palm slightly in the shallow breathing. He lets out his own breath and tiptoes to kiss his beast. "You are beautiful."

Hannibal growls as he sighs, stroking Will's cheek as another hand roams the skin of the Will's flank. He kisses Will's ear and noses the chocolate curls, his mumbles are low and husky, brimming with adoration. "Will, Will..."

"And you haven't told me your name yet." Will nudges his ear to Hannibal's chest, not quite sure if the beast's heartbeats are supposed to be that fast or they pace up for their new and dazzling exploration of their relationship.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," Hannibal replies with a laugh.

"Don't Shakespeare me." Will rolls his eyes and bumps Hannibal, who bites his lips and finally reveals the mystery.

"You worship me as a god and a monster." Tilting his head to kiss the mortal, the Other speaks with the frosting breath, "I am Cernunnos the horned god. I am Pan the god of wild. I am Herne the Hunter. And I am Wendigo the beast of winter and hunger."

"I...I know that one." Will brings up his head to meet the god's gaze. "Wendigo. I've seen it a couple times in my dreams." Why is Hannibal still afraid to show him his face?

But Hannibal blinks with hesitation. "I can only enter mortal's dreams as a stag."

The mutual confusion knits Will's bows together. "Really? Weird rule. But what was that then? It looked like you. Antlered, pitch black and absorbing light around it."

"Perhaps your subconsciousness had already taken a glimpse of my nature, my remarkable mongoose."

Praise comes with the sharp teeth nibbling his lips, Will leans forth and responses enthusiastically, touching the man's shoulders, neck, the sharp cheekbones and horns. Hannibal strokes his back, the act is nothing but gentleness, but the razor-sharp claws draw twinging stripes on his skin. He disentangles their tongue to pant, mumbling with a bashful smile, "I literally fell in love with a beast."

"Does it meant to be a bad thing?"

"No, I just never thought it would happen."

"I also never considered myself would have interest in a mortal. Yet, since the first day we met, I cannot control myself anymore. My instinct drives me to kill for you, to court you, to make you mine." The hands slide down to Will's buttocks, kneading and threatening to pierce his skin. Will lets out a silent moan, fueling the beast's ravenous gaze flare like a sun. "Will, beloved, mate with me."

Will shivers under pinning, he blushes for the excitement tempting his cock to stir. "Yes." He hears himself begging. "Make me yours."

Hannibal kisses him like a storm of passion and lust, Will's leg are weakened immediately, tangling to Hannibal's waist as the man lifts him up to the bed again.

The board torso looms and presses on him. Only feeling safe and secure, he hugs the beast and grabs the antlers to deepen their kiss. It seems that breathing is not necessary to the god, but it does not take half a minute Will is already drowned in the fierce kiss. He turns his head away for fresh air, giving a better access for Hannibal to nip his throat.

Hannibal is more keen on biting in his beast form. With hands pining Will's hip on the bed, he licks and sucks and munches Will, leaving traces of rosy marks across the empath's neck and chest. Will grabs his horns again as his lips come across to his nipple, but nothing can deter Hannibal to taste the fruit. He teases the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, it swells enticingly for the lick, attracting his teeth to take a perverse bite. Will whines, squirming to escape from the biting, but the twinge and the wetness left behind continue torturing his poor mind burnt by their fused desire.

Hannibal lifts away and brings him sit astride on his laps. The posture pushes their torsos together, Will moans for the hardness rubbing against him, he nudges back and reaches down without a thought, but the strange difference makes him end their kiss to look down, and he freezes.

He knows well that Hannibal is larger than average, but right now he is even much longer and thicker that looks intimidating.

"Oh, god."

His breathless gape amuses the god promptly. "Please, I prefer you call me Hannibal."

Will only does not have time to roll his eyes, he shifts back slightly to admire the beast, and after a moment he finally has the courage to touch the monstrous cock that is leaking sumptuous amount of precum. Stroking it reverently with both curiosity and innocence, he lets another hand reach down to feel the weight of the balls, so curious, as if he had never touched a cock before. Hannibal is tense completely, fighting against the instinct to thrust into Will's palms which are slick with his profuse precum.

"This is insane." Will withdraws and swallows with difficulties. "You're going to fuck me with that."

"I won't force you, Will, never. I can change back to—"

"No. I said fuck me with that." Will pouts and grabs the shaft, making Hannibal growl and swell harder. Imagining being penetrated and filled with this enormous cock alone makes his own ache.

"Insatiable boy," Hannibal groans pleasantly and grabs Will's hip to pull him closer.

Will is totally submissive under the dazing kiss, he gives no struggle when Hannibal pins him down and manhandles him to lie on his stomach. He pants and rubs his cock against the silk sheet as Hannibal kisses and slowly traces out the muscles of his back like drawing a delicate sketch. The firm hands following down his spine finally reach to his buttocks and spread him open, exposing his puckered hole to the beast.

"Palatable, Will."

The throbbing cock pressed against his butt crack, rubbing and wetting him with the hot precum, tip threatening to breach and force into him. He whines and tremble in the excitement, arching up his body to grind against the man; he had never been completely turned on like this.

"Shh..." Hannibal hisses and pushes him back to fetch a lube. The claws scratches the wood of the drawer loudly.

The warning sound stiffens Will, but it seems that Hannibal's talons like cat claws can be retracted, only soft and slick fingers touch his entrance gently.

Soon Will is loosened and sucking three fingers in, eager to swallow something much larger. He is already moaning when Hannibal decides he is ready and pulls out the fingers. The weight on the bed shifts behind him. Trembling helplessly, he lifts his ass higher as Hannibal smears the precum on his hungry hole.

The swollen head stretches him open, it feels even bigger than what he just saw a moment ago. It splits him into halves, forcing him open to impossibly wide and filling him entirely at the same time. He whines and grabs the sheet desperately struggling to relax but tempted to clutch to suck in more. The entering is like forever, Hannibal keeps pushing inside, impaling him further and further, and he finally reaches the deepest part of him.

Will cannot stop his tremble, he feels like he can just come for the sweetest fullness inside him. The pleasure escalates by the drags and thrusts, rendering him delirious. He whimpers and squirms and rocks, the begging breaks the weakening composure of the beast, Hannibal grasps his hip with the strength that will definitely leaves bruises on him and thrusts in harder. His self-control also perishes in the waves, all the senses are overridden by the euphoric pleasure burning him both inside and outside.

"Will, Will..."

Will needs more than a few seconds to register his name form the snarl, Hannibal is even faster now, milking his prostate in every thrash.

"Hanni...too, too much, I can't..."

Hannibal speeds up and strokes him despite his plea, he screams and spills all over the sheet, clutching involuntarily till Hannibal bursts and infuses him with all of his seeds. Will has no idea how much cum a beast like Hannibal has, but he can feel he is totally slick and full even after Hannibal pulled out carefully, and some of the liquid brims out his hole, seducing the beast to lap them up.

"We should do this earlier," Will murmurs with a mischievous smile in the hug and sprawls on Hannibal's chest.

"If I knew that it can fully satisfied you, my dear." Hannibal pats his buttock as a taunt, and he laughs and nuzzled closer.

They listen to each other's breath for a while, Hannibal's chest begins rumbling beneath Will. Will at first thinks the god is asleep and snoring though he never heard him snore before, and that sounds more like a purr—Hannibal is purring like a cat. His giggle bursts out and Hannibal purrs louder intentionally, he shoves the man to catch his breath. "Wait, I have tons of questions. So, there are many gods like you out there?"

"We are only a portion of them. There are gods of natural, gods created by religions, many who are famous in mythologies like the Titans and the Olympians, also much more whose names are lost in the time stream." Hannibal shifts his head slightly to meet Will's gaze. His antlers scrape the headboard but he pays no mind. "You have met two Eldritch already."

"Really?"

"Yes. Mrs. Komeda and Dr. Sutcliffe."

"Oh, that's why I felt there was something off about them."

"Empathy is not the only gift you have."

"But I didn't find you odd at first." Just a pretentious psychiatrist.

"And you didn't find me interesting at first." Hannibal winks at him. Will twists his lip, not sure whether he would feel flattered or have urge to punch him in his face if Hannibal did that the first day they met.

Will leaves the smirk to himself and leads his head back to Hannibal's chest. He likes to fondle Hannibal's chest hair every time he gets the chance, but there is only smoothness now, he lets his fingers trace to the side, counting the ribs Hannibal has. "So what else are real too? Santa Claus?"

"Believe in Santa Claus, Will? Then I am sorry to disappoint you. Rather, the demon of Christmas does exist. Krampus, the monster who wakes up at every winter solstice and loves to devour the flesh and soul of ungrateful children."

"Hmm, sounds like you. Will you stuff my socks with human feet?" Will nudges Hannibal's thighs with his knee and regrets asking the question, it sounds exactly like a thing Hannibal will do for Christmas. He clears his throat and changes the topic instantly. "What about Cthulhu?"

"Mr. Lovecraft was endowed with the ability to see through the dimension boundaries. And yes, Will, aliens exist, so does Godzilla."

Hannibal purrs again under Will's disbelieving gaze, gaining himself a snort and a hard push.

"Now you're messing around. Not funny, Hannibal. How old are you?"

It is meant to be a jeer, but Hannibal says, "I never count. I was already there when the great old god gave you fire."

"You are...immortal," Will murmurs in a sudden monotone, crawling up to sit on his ankles.

The coldness draw Hannibal up immediately. He seeks for Will's hand and his gaze,which is rippling with concerning sadness. "Will."

"My life is just a brief candle to you."

"Will, please, indeed I have lived for thousands of centuries, and I will live for much longer, but I never have the same feeling to anyone but you. You are not a temporary pet or toy. You are my sole love." Hannibal touches Will's cheek with the tenderness he can ever show, and Will nuzzles him while shaking his head.

"No, I know you love me. I mean, I have a finite life, I can only live for a few more decades, and you, you will remain the same, you will watch me old, you will watch me die. It is not fair." He has not forgotten, he will never forget, the immense grief and relief on Hannibal's face the day he had thought he was killed by a serial killer but finally saw him alive. And eventually he will be actually gone, even a god cannot revert the natural order. The pain will be with Hannibal eternally.

"Oh, Will." Hannibal chuckles in the same way of Will scolding his dogs silly. "There are many methods to give you immortality."

"Oh, right, of course. I'm just dumb." Will puffs and throws his face on the pillow, grumbling with frustration to his naiveté, cannot bear with Hannibal's laugh. "So what should I do? Bath myself in the Styx or the sacred dragon blood?"

"I am afraid the river will only drown you, and you have to slay a dragon on your own."

"And of course dragons exist."

Hannibal smiles to his exasperation and combs his hair. "Be my mate, Will."

Will shifts and gets up with a shy scowl. "We, we mated already."

"I am not only saying physical bonding." Hannibal strokes down from Will's collarbones to his heart. "Your soul, Will. Bind your soul with me and you will share my immortality and power. You will live as long as I do. And vice versa."

"So if...if I died, you would also..."

"Yes."

It is too much.

Will finds his lips tremble as he draws up a smile. "Is there anything I need to know before I agree it? Can I change back to human appearance?"

"Yes, once you learn the trick. And it would do no harm to you. Probably the only inconvenience to you is that your dogs might be afraid of you. Animals are very sensitive to eerie beings."

Will laughs and finally understands why his pack always snarl at Hannibal even though he has done nothing but bringing sausages to them. He shakes his head for the insignificant thing and presses their foreheads together, looking into Hannibal's eyes. "Till death do us part."

"I am glad to hear you agree, however you are not in the appropriate state to make this lifelong decision. Oxytocin is still running in your body." Hannibal kisses his pouting lips, bringing them down onto the bed to resume their hugging. "Besides, we need to wait for the full moon."

"When is it?"

"Soon. Be patient, beloved. Sleep now." Hannibal pats his hair as he yawns. "Leave your questions for another time. Rest."

Will's eyelids want to surrender, but there is one more thing.

"Gideon...his body is still in the car. The meat will be spoiled if we leave it there..."

"Don't worry, Will, I will take it to the basement. You can take care of it tomorrow." Hannibal holds him tightly, though his only movement is just blinking his eyes to fight the tiredness. "And Will, please kindly preserve a part for me."

"Hmm, don't think you'll like the taste."

"Not really for me, mongoose. What is better than feeding an undesirable meal to your enemy?"

Will's snigger comes out as a hum as he begins to sink into the dream with the stag, the words slip out from his mind as he regards them as merely a tease.

But Hannibal does invite Jack over and lets him sit at the head of the table two days later.

Will eyes Hannibal across the table, the beast is hiding under the immaculate human suit again, spilling nothing but irrelevant anecdotes about Florence brought by the appetizer he first learnt there. After exchanging with Jack their own visit there, Hannibal glances back to Will with a definite smug and challenging look, clearly upping to no good. "Have you visited there, Will?"

"I have never been to another country." Will grabs up his glass and confronts the gaze. "Can't leave my dogs and my jobs for even half of a day."

"You should take a break, Will, get yourself far away from this land of blood and death."

"As if Italy had no serial killer there."

"I believe crime scenes are not the places for travelers to visit." Hannibal turns his uncovered smirk to Jack. "Don't listen to him. We both know Will's stubbornness."

Jack hums with a raised brow. "Sounds like you're implying something. Am I invited here as your boss?"

"Friend, with no doubt." With an unwavered smile, Hannibal stands up. "Will, would you like to help me to serve the main course?"

Will cocks his eyebrows but uncovers none true intention. "Sure."

He carries his own dish and follows the killer into the kitchen, the smugness of Hannibal can even be seen on his back. Will stares for a long while, crossing his arms, he decides to confront the elephant in the room directly. "What are you planning?"

"Langue de boeuf," Hannibal says without looking up from the decorating. "I thought you knew that. Remember we harvested the meat together form your prey?"

How would he forget. "I am not talking about the meal."

"Then I am no sure what you are referring to."

"You know. Wait, are you planning to elope to Europe with me?"

Hannibal only wipes his hands and reaches across the island to Will's cheek. "Have you changed your mind about our bonding, beloved?"

"You have asked it for hundreds of times." Will pouts. "My answer will stay the same. I want to be your mate or consort or whatever. You know I am stubborn."

"Good," Hannibal says in a brief kiss and takes off his apron. "Now, this is yours, and this is for our guest. Please do not mix them up."

All dishes are the special delicacy of the wendigo, the problem is just whose tongue is in there.

"Though I presume the case of the Ripper right now needs Will desperately." Hannibal resumes the subject as they pick up their silverware. "Have you found Frederick?"

Jack sighs and shakes his head. "Can't ask the man knowing where he is now. Blame the Ripper."

"Is it truly the Ripper killed Abel Gideon?" Hannibal smiles as he dips the meat in sauce, eyes wrinkling beneath his bangs. "I do not see the Ripper on the body."

"It is the Ripper." Jack insists even though he often has the wrong guesses. "Will also thinks that."

"Yeah." Will slices his meat without looking, he stares at Hannibal solely. "The same old humiliation and organ removal. It's our favourite killer."

"There is humiliation indeed, hanging Gideon's skinned body on a tree by fishing lines and hooks. But most of the wounds were done after death. Only a few punches on the head before his life ended with a quick snap of the neck, not by mutilation as usual. And there was no flower. Not a killing for his love. It looks like a work of someone else, an admirer of the Ripper, irritated by the plagiarism and killed the imposter himself. It is an offering."

Will chews with an unnoticeable smirk. "The Ripper will never use an ugly pig like Gideon to write a love letter to his love. The irritated one is him." He licks his lips wetted with wine as he gazes at Hannibal's curled one. "And he couldn't resist the temptation of taking away a piece of meat."

"I doubt the Ripper would use 'an ugly pig' as his dinner."

"Then where the tongue would be if it was not sewed in Gideon's throat or eaten into the Ripper's belly, Doctor Lecter?"

"That I should ask you, Will. I hope you did not mix up out guest's dish with yours and eat the spoiled tongue."

Jack pauses his fork. He stares at his half-finished meal, disgust and fear claws up on his face.

"You bastard." Will springs to prevent Jack's arms from reaching the gun.

Hannibal only smirks, his hands are darkened and sharpened with talons, breaking through the ribs and buried inside Jack's chest within a short breath, and before Will could react, he pulls out the beating heart with just a twist of his wrist.

"You barbaric beast. We're still having dinner." Will snares and lets the dying man drop on the ground, gaze fixed on the Other who covers himself back in the human suit. The fingernails are blunt again and the suit gains no crinkle from the sudden movement, but Hannibal's eyes are reflecting blood, feral and hot.

Enchanted by the ruby colour, Will stays still as the monster advances on him. He parts his lips, expecting a kiss when Hannibal calls his name softly, but there is no touch alights; Hannibal kneels down on one knee, holding the thumping heart to him.

"There is no word in the world can describe my feelings to you, Will. Not even the charm of Amour can elicit such fierce feeling. I want you to be my consort. Will, will you—"

"Yes, Hannibal, I do." Will pulls him up and crushes their lips together.

The heart is soon forgotten on the table, they plaster themselves on each other, lips seeking and sucking until they pant in the fervent passion and desire. Hannibal licks away the blood smeared on Will's cheeks from the caressing. "Let's finish the ritual, beloved."

Will gauges Jack's body and the heart placed on his plate. "For the record, I'm not going to eat a raw heart even if it is some weird part of the monster wedding."

"Don't be silly." Hannibal leaves him a fond kiss. "You can eat the cake in the fridge if you are still hungry. I will be back soon."

Will hums and wonders what the ritual needs if it is not a dead body. He stays for a moment before going into the kitchen. He slices a piece of the liqueur cake, and just as he takes a mouthful of it, Hannibal returns with inhuman speed and claims his lips, sharing the piquant taste of dark chocolate with him. "Delicious."

Will blushes slightly, still having no strength to resist Hannibal whispering with his accented and husky voice. He scoops a morsel of the cake to Hannibal's mouth, trying to block him away, but his face heats up further for those lips wrapping around the dessert and the tongue lapping the remaining cream away. He draws back quickly as the man looks up at him with hunger. "What—what is that?" He points at the bag in Hannibal's arms.

Hannibal gives it to him. There are towels, clothes, underwear, and a lube. Will regrets opening it.

"Where are we going?"

"Forest. We need to consummate our bond under the moonlight."

Cannot tell if it is the suggestion behind or the hand squishing his buttock makes his heart cease. "Oh, god."

"Yes, Will?"

Will puffs out a laugh and shoves Hannibal playfully, who takes back the bag and brings him back to the dining room.

Hannibal slides open the door towards the garden under his curious gaze. They step onto the snow and the fallen leaves, the full moon shines upon them through the brushing foliage and branches. Will looks over his shoulder, the house is gone and only the same view of the dense forest greets him.

"Will, stay close to me."

Will goes to the outstretching arm, looking back in bewilderment for a few times before focusing on their thread. The fairy tales of monsters Hannibal mentioned last time when they were searching in the woods appear in his mind, he smiles for the similarity of being led into the unknown, but he is eager to be eaten.

They exchange soft kisses in a clearing lit by the moon, taking off clothes and exploring each other's body. Hannibal's nails begin scraping his back, darkness spread under his palms like a drop of ink penetrating water, revealing the antlered god to him. It is astonishing to see the ethereal being bathed in the starlight, Will touches the garland of antlers and kisses Hannibal's lips. Hannibal returns the same tenderness and hugs Will tightly. "You are mine, Will. Neither heaven nor hell can keep you away from me."

He kisses like storm and flame, rendering Will onto the ground in dizziness. Will spread out on the soft meadow permeated with snow and winter flowers, looking at him with eyes hazed for love. The beauty more striking than a deer offered on his alter takes away his breath, Hannibal devours those inviting lips helplessly, until Will calls his name weakly and his chest flooded with affection can finally breathe again. He noses Will's hair and neck, taking in the scent to fill his nose with the salt of sweet, the unfortunate aftershave that he finds himself growing fond of, and the chocolate perfuming Will's lips, tempting him to lick and taste.

Will gives out a faint moan, the hands swimming on him light fire wherever they go, burning out the oxygen in his lungs. His breath is steamy, the snow supporting his back start thawing like he was melting underneath the hot kisses.

Hannibal's lips brush his chest, navel, and hip bones, slow and savouring, and they finally land on his inner thigh and leave him trace

of wet and twinging marks. With that lustful mouth getting closer and closer to his aching member, Will pants with more difficulties, cock throbbing between his thighs, driving him to arch up for more.

Hannibal sniffs and laps the precum, his antlers almost gore Will's stomach as he sucks down the shaft. Will groans and thrusts in, does not mind being impaled by the antlers as long as Hannibal's mouth is on him.

Hannibal growls while letting Will's legs mount on his shoulders, he sucks hard to make Will sob and lose all the strength before rising up his antlers. Grunts and mist spill out from his dampened lips. "On your hands and knees please."

Will shivers against the kiss, he pants for a few seconds to regain his strength and turns around to face the snow sluggishly. Before he adjusts his limbs into a comfortable position, Hannibal's hands are already on him, caressing from his shoulder blades to his bottom, rubbing and kneading his cheeks. He can feel the blazing gaze fixed at his entrance revealed, the shame mixed with excitement makes him blush deeper. They had sex in the same way these two days, but it still feels too feral and debauched as Hannibal mounts on him in his beast form.

Cock twisting for the amorous memories and anticipation, Will lifts up his hip to be parted wider. A wet lick strikes him with a shiver, he whines and grasps the snow and grasses beneath. "What, what are you..."

Hannibal silences him by kissing his hole. The beast sucks and wet Will just like kissing his lips, tongue circling and probing the muscles which give in within seconds. The thrusting draws choked moans from Will, he slumps down on his elbows under the electrified pleasure, precum dripping down to the snow in a small pool.

He is still in tremble when Hannibal leaves him to fetch the bag dumped a few feet away. The position and the dimness around them only allow him to glimpse the silhouette of the god. Will strains his ear instinctively, the sounds of the zip and the lube are too loud in the secluded forest, he swallows for finding it similar to the scraping of fork and knife, but he relaxed soon for the quickened breath of Hannibal brushing his nape with a light kiss.

He is loosened slightly for the licking, the fingers slide in without facing much resistance. He focuses on his breathing and opens up gradually for the intrusion, like a flower being coaxed open by the gentle touches.

"Beautiful, Will."

Will clutches in shame, forcing himself not to think about how he looks like right now, but all his attention shifts to the fingers when they begin to retreat, he whines and arches his ass higher, clutching tightly but in vain, the fingers are gone and leave him with a wrenching emptiness.

"Hannibal, get inside..." He struggles as Hannibal rolls him to make him lie on his back.

"I want to see your rebirth, Will." Hannibal shushes him while settling between Will's thighs.

The posture lets Will see the beast's cock clearly, it is glittering with the lavish precum, swollen in an impressive size that makes him moan and spread his legs wider. The irresistible invitation draws growl from Hannibal, he rubs Will's hole roughly, muttering between his groan in a language that cannot be mimicked by a human tongue.

Will grins for seeing Hannibal lose his control. The cock breaches open him, he whimpers and sucks the tip in eagerly, missing and craving for the cock to fill him full. Hannibal grabs his hip and pierces him unceremoniously, the sudden harsh twinge and fullness make him cry out, almost out of breath.

"Will." Hannibal pauses for the glint of tears in Will's eyes.

"I'm okay. Don't, don't sniff me, you didn't hurt me. You're just so large." Will reveals a shy smile with a deep brush, Hannibal still looks closely at his expression and scents for blood or distress.

As Will relaxes around him, Hannibal starts tentatively until Will's breath hitch again. He aims at the same spot with quickened rhythm while resuming his mumble in the god's language.

The friction and the brushes are too intense that it took a long while before Will's heated brain vaguely recognizes the words are not compliments like the praises Hannibal always whispers to him on their bed. He wants to ask their meaning but only choked sounds can leave his reddened lips.

He cranes his neck backwards and whines for the deliberately slow withdraw followed by a deep thrust, his cock throbs and seeps out more liquid on his stomach, he kicks his legs and wriggles helplessly in the pouncing waves for a breath. Hannibal hisses and pulls his pelvis to him, resulting in a better angle to thrash in deeper.

Will cries, his hands grab tufts of grass out from the soil, and his lower stomach starts tightening as he clenches the cock involuntarily. The seething heat burns his core, his heart beats with the sacred vowels purifying his boiling blood and forging his melted bones. The dark ink from the night spreads on him, sharpening his nails into talons and wrapping him like the softness velvet, but sharp pain blooms in his forehead, as if some things beneath his skull are sprouting outwards, pricing through his bone and skin to tear the sky.

"Hanni, Hannibal..."

"Don't fight it, Will, let go."

Hannibal trusts in hard, Will spurts out with his antlers at the same time Hannibal fills him with hot seeds, sealing their sacred bond.

Will pants but he quickly finds his breath is taken away by the divine changing on him.

The world is suddenly a strange place to him again. Grass and stones in the thawed snow tickle his polished skin; the breezes are loud with the rustle of the leaves and the breathing of trees, filling his nose with the vibrant fragrances of flowers and berries, but none is as tansy as the spicy musk of Hannibal on and inside him. He opens his eyes for a soft call, and he does not know how to breathe again; Hannibal is an eclipse under the moonlight, mists of auroras are radiating from him, even the stars and the moon fade and are put to shame for the magnificence of the god.

"It's beautiful," Will says with his only breath.

Hannibal kisses him in a languid way before pulling out and nuzzling him, baptizing him with more kisses and licks. Will crawls up after Hannibal finished cleaning. He stands on his hooves wobbly, tries to walk a few steps and kicks up powers of snow. His legs feels strong, the new-grown power feels like can help him run faster than light.

The new shape of his shadow on the ground tempts him to raise his hands adorned with curved claws to his antlers, rubbing the branches curiously.

Hannibal draws closer to let their shadows merge into one. "Your antlers will be as large as mine eventually, my deer."

Will groans for the pun and Hannibal kisses him. "I love you, Will."

Will smiles in a daze, he leans and brings their antlers cling and wedge together. "I love you too."  
  
  
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support! 
> 
> This story is based on a sudden idea of 'what if all of the hallucinations were ghosts but Will didn't know it and freaked out', which had been occupying my mind for half a year and I finally decided to write it. And it is the longest fic I have ever written so far!
> 
> I have no plan to write sequel right now. But it sounds fun letting Will and Hannibal slay the Great Red Dragon (real dragon) lol


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